Fear is a friend who is misunderstood.

It's always nice to meet up with the friends you have been missing for a long time. None of them have changed much, which is probably what I loved most about them. So much had happened in JC, that their friendship has come to mean so much to me. I guess what I had previously identified as dislike is maybe jealousy? That they were leaving my life, going on to bigger and brighter things. That I am now just a side character in their life story? It doesn't even make sense to me.
I ran into an old crush too, and there was the same familiar feeling of fleeting euphoria when we made eye contact. It's was a nice way to say goodbye, and put closure on silly feelings I had invested in this non-relationship.
V and I headed to the airport soon after, talking about friends and the life ahead. Briefly I wondered why I liked the airport so much. I kinda hoped its because everyone there is either leaving to a better place or coming back to a familiar home.
My life so far has not been what I have chosen it to be. I am very much appreciative of my family and friends, but I often wonder what if? What if I had been a little braver then? I know it's a dangerous question to be constantly repeating to yourself, but I'm at a stage where there's a chance to start a new chapter elsewhere. Isn't this what you always wanted? Sweet giddying freedom. Make up your mind, kiddo.

Man's ego is the fountainhead of human progress.

So I spent a large part of today reading Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. I really liked it but it left a somewhat odd aftertaste. Roark was the first character I admired in a long time. I guess what I respected most was how he knew what he wanted to be when he was only ten and had never deviated since. I just cannot imagine myself ever being to committed to a dream or a need. It was then I realized something about myself, which I didn't like. Roark chose to avoid the painless path and his stubborn refusal to compromise or to be judged by anything but his own standards, got me thinking about what I had lost. Its a strange epiphany, that feeling, or that realization rather, that you have actually left so much behind, in pursuit of a perceived happiness but can only be described as the painless path. I'm lucky to be where I am, and I appreciate it nonetheless, but not as much as the desire to have been something more.

To be honest, The Fountainhead lost me soon after the first volume. Its not that I didn't understand it, but its like a conversation with someone you haven't seen in a long while - things you could relate to just aren't there anymore. Roark was an anti-hero to me, and he represented all that was wrong with society. But like life, Roark became more human, more flawed as it progressed and I found my frustration growing.
Rand commented how she developed Roark to be a reason unto himself and the joy of living personified. On some level I guess I do understand, although living a life by my own reason somehow just seems inadequate. Anyway, I still love how books can change your set perspective on life. Maybe its because I'm egotistical, but not many books can do that. Even if its toward the smallest thing, like modernistic architecture. I have never been a fan of modernism, but this book has changed that.

"A building is alive, like a man. Its integrity is to follow its own truth, its one single theme, and to serve its own single purpose. A man doesn't borrow pieces of his body. A building doesn't borrow hunks of its soul. Its maker gives it soul and every wall, window and stairway to express it. "