The urge to learn every language and play every instrument and travel the world and live through every historical time period and be a writer and a poet and an actor and

i saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because i couldn't make up my mind which of the figs i would choose

could you make a mood board for me? i wanna see what vibe i give off <3

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍

looking through your profile I think you're actually so cool lmk if you wanna be moots😭🫶

my fig tree

Reason for death : the fig tree analogy by Sylvia Plath

my fig tree🤍

Hey, Babe. I WANT IT ALL! - Sylvia Plath's Fig Tree Analogy and my harvest of fruits.

                 The over-consumption of media and the world around makes it hard to bring down the taste of this ordinary life. As a young girl who craves the experiences in movies and books, I can’t bare the hungry feeling for something more exciting in life. I’ve always felt I must pursue greatness, but oh how difficult that has come to be. I have yet to know and even less to find out what I am to become. There are so many things my mind has loved, and I can’t choose just what I want to be. Though I’ve learned to grateful for the things I have, I can’t help but want more. I want more and more and more. MORE!

Recently, people on the internet have gone into discussion about the analogy of the fig tree by Sylvia Plath. Upon hearing about this analogy and the conversation behind it, I have come to see that I am not the only girl, or person, that has been arguing in her mind over who she is, before she even gets to be anybody. In Plath’s famous book “The Bell Jar” she wrote, "I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

Oh, how easily and gracefully Plath put the feeling of an overwhelming and overcomplicated dilemma that occurs within one’s mind. I particularly identify with the part where she states the hunger she feels, and how she starves, because lately I’ve leaned on to sitting and doing nothing, only because I can’t decide what I want to work on, so I work on nothing. How my mind decided that was the best option, I’ll never know. It felt as if somehow the answer would just fall upon me, perhaps as if one of the figs from the fig tree would have fallen off a branch and landed on my hand, fresh, plump, and purple, ready to be eaten. But, like Sylvia wrote, they were only rotting away. Therefore, I have decided to act. I still don’t know which fig to eat, but I will pluck them all from the tree, carry them away in a basket and cut them into pieces, getting a taste of each to see with one may be the best. So now, I am writing. To the world or to whoever may see this. I am starting my blog to expand my options and get a taste of all my harvest.

-Ali McQueen

Sylvia Plath's fig tree analogy will always haunt me

i am a woman. of course i’m forever haunted by sylvia plath’s fig tree analogy.

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.

//Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 1982

I think about Sylvia Plath's fig tree analogy constantly and how it's something I've already constantly felt even before I knew what the fig tree analogy was, or even before i knew of Sylvia Plath. That feeling is just such a universal feeling that she managed to put into words splendidly, well splendid is a complete understatement to be honest. It just captures the feeling so well! From the hunger, as well as the tragedy of potential. If my twelve year old self knew of this she would not have survived I fear..

Vanilla Sky Analogy

I don't know what it is like to want to live. My life is woven within dreams of dying under beautiful vanilla skies. Sometimes I wish to turn into the paintbrush that painted these skies. I couldn't quite ever make out whether my metaphor of an exact vanilla sky was meant for life or death.

Either way it made me incredibly happy.

As a child, I'd lie down and close my eyes and get lost in my escape, my mind, my imagination. I'd get lost somewhere in France, somewhere under a sky Monet once painted that was a true vision. It was probably real. I'm dying for something real. I'd also get lost somewhere between where the sky and the land kiss.

I saw myself as a sleeping angel roaming in streets of France searching for Monet's vision somewhat like a frenetic. I so desperately needed to find my sky so as to be free. Somehow my metaphor for life or death wasn't the sky anymore. The confusion was gone. It was freedom. It was never about life and it was more than death and infact sadder than death.

It's sort of a surreal desire. I sometimes thought of making love under a sky that immensely provoking. I think I'd cry. I can feel it being somewhat sacred. I imagine it still. It's almost like I'm gleaming from being painted by the colors of the sky.

Blue, for i am in so much pain

Violet, for i am a girl who loves flowers and particularly violets

Orange, for I have never been less scared of everyone and myself.

Eventually it became a maddening desire and it started fading away. I don't dream of running under hued skies and watch the sky and the land kiss and become one anymore. I watch myself stay caged and stuck in my palace of materials and negotiations. I feel my tears rolling down my cheeks, it feels hot on my skin. I once wanted to find the wind to dry them up.

The sky became a mere crumpled piece of paper on which I try to find what's left of life and in me.

The Seine at Argenteuil remains a lucid yet forgotten desire. It taunts me. Yet i just sit and watch and wait. What for? I guess nothing. Isn't it just sad? To wait for nothing and nothing but nothing?

i feel sick by the amount of options i have available in my life like you’re telling me i can do anything i want the only condition is i can only pick one. twisted. i am sick to my stomach.

alright guys wth