I’ve recently learned in class that giving comes in three predictable levels: the first and lowest is where you expect reciprocation, the second in which you expect gratitude or praise, and the third is where you don’t expect anything in change at all.

So far I’m stuck on the first and second levels, but I can say that I’m transitioning to the third. It’s a noble thing to say, actually, that you can give and never expect anything back, but it comes with the price of accepting bitter truth – expectations of being acknowledged or appreciated in the form of gratitude and reciprocation are not going to be met most of the time. I can say that I definitely don’t meet others’ expectations. We human beings are naturally self-absorbed, so it is wise to overlook lapses of gratitude from time to time, as it is wise to remember that we give out of knowledge that a person can benefit from what we can, not because of what we’re going to get in return.

I say this because to be honest, I’m done tallying down all of the things I’ve given and all of the people I’ve helped without getting anything from it. Basking in how under-appreciated I am never helped any, and it never was about that in the first place.


I don’t want to write about you, or anything even remotely close to you. I don’t want to figure out what I already understand; I don’t want to feel all over again. I don’t want to write about you, but you’re all that’s on my mind, blocking everything else I have an idea for. Every time I write, every time I try to go back to what I’m actually good at, you form out of the endless spirals of ink. Everything else I try to conjure seems incomplete and insincere. You’ve taken over every void.

So I’m complying, right now, so I can get a move on. Just get out of my goddamn head.