Musings on Life and More

As the days and years of my life have gone by, there has been this pressing realisation of time moving way too fast, and me trying my hardest to catch up, while life just passes me by. It's a weirdly jolting thought, to witness your life from the perspective of a viewer, not knowing how much of this is actually real and tangible, or merely an ephemeral dream.

Last year marked the painfully difficult transition from university to a full-blown adult life, starting a job, moving out, renting my own place, and starting a brand new life. It is weird how much of our time goes into planning the intricate details of this big rosy picture that you see from the innocently ambitious lens of student life, and it is equally funny how the sudden realisation of it being nothing like the life you imagined hits you like a truck.

An interesting concept I've learnt and come to terms with is that of "self parenting". Something that I've had to do since moving out. Being away from home since grade 12, I never thought of it as something particularly hard or extraordinary, however, this time something just didn't sit right. I've had to experience the good, bad and ugly versions of me up close, to the point where I doubted whether this is the same person who supposedly had their life together until now. Self parenting is all about looking at your own self as if you were your own parent, being gentle and affectionate when your body and mind needs it, while at the same time loving yourself enough to know when to tame the stubborn, naïve, boisterous and the I-need-it-all-right-now inner child. Blythe Bard's Theories About The Universe, a little stroke of wisdom I absolutely adore, does a fantastic job of putting the idea into perspective:

"My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this, because chocolate makes dogs very sick. My dog does not understand this. She pouts and wraps herself around my leg like a scarf and purrs and tries to convince me to give her just a tiny bit. When I do not give in, she eventually gives up and lays in the corner, under the piano, drooping and sad. I hope the universe has my best interest in mind like I have my dog's. When I want something with my whole being, and the universe withholds it from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself: “Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants, but she does not understand how it will hurt.”

On a similar note, this was also the year I turned 23. A fascinating number if you ask me. Nothing like 23 to fill you up to the brim with hope and give you an existential crisis as your life comes crashing down at your feet at the same time. The wonderous "too young to do this", "too old to do that" age. As I've started to settle into the mundane rhythms of my work life, I can't help but think about the fact that merely a few months ago, I was living a completely different life. Although I wouldn't trade this for that, I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I miss my curious, excited and ready to explore the novel stuff self, untouched by modern brainrot. And after weeks of struggling to settle in and finding my own way into this new and unfamiliar rhythm, I very recently came to this realisation that to bring back this self and to keep it alive is indeed very much my responsibility, hence, this raw, unedited and impulsive attempt to put pen to paper after two whole years, not wanting to lose the spark within and the magical ability to conjure up paragraphs after paragraphs about anything under the sun, a quality I've always been proud of within myself.

As I've settled in into the new mundane, life feels almost boringly familiar now. Day after day after day of the same thing might feel like a drag, but sometimes I even find myself thinking that is the good kind of mundane, It's actually good to not have unexpected dramatic encounters each day, signalling my life is stable enough to expect nothing but predictability, and there's beauty in it. At the same time, the desire for novelty exists too. To be able to find tiny glimmers of joy in this boring little life of yours is indeed significant. I read it on Instagram somewhere, that "glimmers" are the opposite of "triggers", tiny parachutes of hope you can cling on to whenever life feels to hard to handle. After all, micro joys are how we survive macro grief. And in fact it is indeed an act of rebellion to wake up each day and choose to show up, and most importantly, show up with delusional optimism and hope, in the face of this broken world.

And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, 'This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!' And each day, it’s up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say, 'No. This is what’s important. - Iain S. Thomas

Navigating this phase of life has indeed been quite a ride. Just like the peaks and troughs of a valley, I've had my own peaks and troughs to deal with. Funny how when you're left all alone to deal with your worst problems and insecurities, a new version of yourself surfaces, and it feels almost alien initially. Gradually, as you befriend this new self, new layers of personality unfold, and so continues this endless evolution. Honestly, I can't help but feel slightly proud of this new, more confident, less anxious (well, slightly) and more aware self that has taken shape. Afterall, the ultimate goal of all self development is, in fact, cultivating self trust, not knowing what lies ahead, and yet being sure enough that this version of you is equipped enough to deal with it. Ultimately, to rest assured in the ambiguity of life. And even if everything fails, the belief that the sun will rise again tomorrow and we will try again.

-a.