To Avoid Ending with "Immature"—The Exhaust Fumes of an Unripe Brain🧠 and the Processing Unit Called Creation

I

In this world, there are people who, when they encounter the dishonesty or unreasonable malice of others, can lightly brush it off, thinking, "Well, that's just how the world is."

For a long time, I have watched such people with eyes filled with a mixture of envy and complex emotions.

The envy is obvious. That lightness, that energy-efficient way of living. It is the smooth way of spending time that belongs to people who do not wear themselves out.

On the other hand, there was also a sense of irritation.
However, that irritation was not directed at them.

Rather, I think it was a somewhat projective irritation toward myself for not being able to be like them.

I simply cannot brush things off.

On the surface, I pretend to be calm. I do not raise my voice on the spot.

But inside, intense emotions are definitely boiling and making noise.

And to make matters worse, I do not process that anger as a mere explosion of emotion.

I pause for a moment and think about how I can make a logical counterargument. Where is the flaw in the logic? I continue to perform calculations and simulations for that purpose endlessly within my brain.

That tense sensation, as if I am sharpening a blade inside myself.

And I also know that somewhere in that thinking, there is a pleasure mixed in that is not exactly something to be proud of.

Every time I face that side of myself, for a long time, I have concluded the following about myself.

"I am immature."

II

However, recently, I have come to think that this conclusion might have been a bit sloppy.

The phrase "I am immature" looks like self-criticism at first glance.

But in reality, it is also an endpoint for thought.

Because by labeling it as such, I exempt myself from any further analysis.

Why can't I just let it go?

Why won't the fire go out?

Why won't the calculations stop?

For a long time, I dismissed these things with the single word 'immature.'
But recently, I feel that isn't enough to explain it.

The problem wasn't the observation, but the fact that a self-trial was always waiting at the end of it.

My thought pattern is usually like this.

A fire starts.

I suppress it.

I make a plan.

And then, I judge myself as 'immature'.

But the fire does not go out.

This loop has no end.

Because as long as the verdict is always 'because I am immature,' there is no room for improvement.

A diagnosis of deficiency sometimes becomes an abandonment of treatment.

So, is this really a deficiency?

I have come to think that perhaps this is actually a temperament.

It is a wiring issue that exists on the same layer as intelligence and ethics.

I think the reason it doesn't change even if I repeat 'why' a hundred times might not be because there is a cause to be cured, but simply because 'that is the kind of person I am.'

Three

Here, another problem overlaps.

It is not just that I cannot let things slide.

I am strangely sensitive to things that might appear as self-preservation or cowardice.

Even when it should be a rational time to withdraw, I sometimes feel, "Isn't this just running away?"

Even when it should be a strategic silence, I sometimes think, "Isn't this just being timid?"

For a long time, I have also considered this feeling to be "proof of being immature."

However, come to think of it, it might be the opposite.

Perhaps the reason I feel pain is because I have some kind of standard within myself.

At the very least, the pain arises precisely because I have such standards within me.

However, there is a structural irony here.

Ethical standards make it impossible to forgive my "troublesome self." But just because I cannot forgive it does not mean that the temperament itself disappears.

As a result, the standards I was supposed to have for self-discipline become tools that hurt me.

Four

So, where should this exhaustion be directed?

I feel like I have recently arrived at a certain way of thinking.

Creation.

However, what is important here is that creation does not function as "healing" or a "refuge."

For me, creation feels closer to a device for safely processing exhaust gas that has nowhere else to go.

I pour that endless cycle of thought into stories, visuals, and characters, and reconstruct it.

Only through that process is the exhaust gas converted into creation.

And creation as a processing device has another aspect.

It is a responsibility to the recipient.

When I write a work, I find myself simulating multiple ways it might be read.

I think about what misunderstandings might arise and where the conversation might go off track, and I make adjustments each time.

Rather than self-defense, this is to ensure that the readers I truly want to reach can enter the work without unnecessary noise.

From the outside, it might just look like troublesome perfectionism.

Five

Here, I would like to think a little about the term 'freedom of expression'.

Honestly, I have never really been conscious of this term. That is because I felt it was something used in an outward-facing context.

Generally, it is often spoken of as the freedom to express thoughts and opinions to society.

However, the 'freedom of expression' that I have grasped through the actual experience of starting to create is a little different.

It is the freedom to burn and filter the exhaust fumes that are born from within me, with my own hands, without causing trouble for anyone.

It is the freedom to process one's inner thoughts to the very end.

This way of thinking might sound self-indulgent, but I have come to think of it as one of the constructive and rational ways to process the troublesome things within myself.

That is why I believe the essence of 'freedom of expression' lies first in stopping the censorship of oneself.

Six

It might be a presumptuous imagination, but I sometimes feel a similar scent in the works of writers who have left their names in history.

Of course, I do not know what they were actually thinking.

However, when reading their works, it sometimes appears that frustration and disappointment toward humanity, or a sense of discomfort and shame toward oneself, are appearing in a highly processed form.

That is why I feel a sense of affinity on my own.

Rather than respect, it is the feeling that 'perhaps these people were also processing something'.

Of course, that is merely my own interpretation.

Even so, I feel that excellent works are often born not from a perfected personality, but from a struggle with something that cannot be fully processed.

Seven

I believe I will continue to live while carrying this 'self that cannot reach enlightenment'.

However, to be honest, I have not fully accepted that.

In fact, even now, there are times when I wish I could have become a person who lives more lightly.

A person who can brush off the dishonesty of others, who does not construct endless counterarguments in their head, who does not keep judging themselves, and who can sleep peacefully.

I think it would have been easier if I could have become that way.

That is why I do not like this part of myself.

The troublesome thought patterns, the lingering anger, and the habit of self-judgment.

I have never thought of them as virtues.

Rather, for a long time, I have considered them flaws.

Even now, that perception has not changed much.

However, one thing has changed.

I have given up on trying to erase them.

I tried to correct them many times.
I tried to become lighter and more enlightened.

But in the end, the fire did not go out.

Faced with something that would not be extinguished, I finally changed my way of thinking.

I wondered if the problem was not the fire itself, but how the fire is used.

If I burn it in real-life relationships, it could lead to destruction.

If you keep it locked inside, you will suffer from self-poisoning.

That is why I decided to keep writing.

It is not out of a noble sense of mission, nor a longing for self-expression.

The starting point is something much more personal and urgent.

Because I have to process what is inside me.

For me, creation is a facility for converting something that could hurt myself or others if left alone into a safe form.

The work is a byproduct of that.

Of course, there might be a healthier way to live.

There might be a path to becoming a more mature person.

But at the very least, I have not found it yet.

So for the time being, I have no choice but to deal with it this way.

This temperament is not something I should be proud of.

Even so, as long as it does not disappear, I must channel it somewhere.

If the place it drifts to is creation, then I think I will continue to write.

Is it because I like it, or because I need it?

I still do not fully understand the difference myself.

🔔Bell