Learning to embrace myself
Do you ever feel the same way I do?
So this, ladies and gentlemen, is my first post on Medium.
Writing on Medium (or just writing in general for that matter), is one of those things I’ve always wanted to do but couldn’t get cracking on.
… Or maybe on a more relatable note, it’s like that other time when you promised yourself you would tidy your room for the nth time because you just couldn’t stand how goddamn messy it was … but Netflix, the bed, hanging out with your friends, and just not thinking about having to do it seemed so much more appealing an idea. (admit it that’s what’s guilt-tripping you this moment… okay, no wrong, maybe you’re more sour that you made a vow to hit the gym for that killer summer bod today, but the weather’s sweltering and … you just ate a tub of Ben and Jerry’s)
Some might call this phenomenon procrastination. Or to give it a more light-hearted and perhaps positive twist, many have deduced that this so-called “procrastination” is very well a symptom of perfectionism which breeds paralysis.
For those who know me well enough, I’m somewhat of a bizarre, perhaps even contradiction of a character.
I dream of living a thousand and one different lives and over again. The world is huge and so very intriguing— I yearn to understand and feel intensely every emotion there is to feel; to spread myself over every nook and cranny there is to exist; to go back in time before dinosaurs roamed while diving into a future of … I don’t know.
My mind is constantly abuzz with fresh new ideas that would sit in my mind like a cow plonking itself in the middle of a road in India, for approximately 188 hours. Then it would be gone in the next, nudged away by a seemingly more interesting idea.
And perhaps, that’s why I never really get anything done.
It might make for an interesting character.
But when you’re on the brink of adulthood like this 21/22 year old right here, with peers left and right seeming to have their next few years charted out, advising you to “start making plans” and “decide what you want”, it’s really not that fun anymore.
Some nights you wished you weren’t such a wandering soul. Is there something wrong with me?
And when the noise crowds out the voice from your heart, you become transfixed with whether you’re doing things right or wrong. You stop listening to your heart because it’s “unreliable”.
It eats up a chunk of your mind, and gnaws a hole in your soul.
And that’s why it took me such a long time to to start writing.
Because it didn’t seem practical, or “worth it” for that matter.
But writing feeds my soul.
It straightens my haywire thoughts and sings the tunes from my heart.
By writing, somehow, the haphazardness seems to make a little more sense, as my transient thoughts flow into words strung into sentences.
So I guess for now, it’s all that matters.
I’ll just take this first baby step and see where this takes me.