It’s November 2016 and I’m sure if I blink twice, it’ll be December and then the New Year. (I wonder if I blink hard enough, I’ll find myself in 2017 immediately, which would be flippin’ fantastic if it didn’t mean missing Christmas — you can’t not have Christmas.)
I’ve said this a lot; 2016 was a terrible terrible year.
In fact, except for a few moments of pure bliss and great memories, this year has been pretty darn awful. Compare it with 2015, which was hella rad or 2013 which was life changing and you’ll wish time-travel was real. Heck, even 2008 was better than this and that was the year of pre-adult-post-adolescence-turmoil, emo-hair, high-school drama and fat days. At least we had good music back then (now all we have is flippin’ Meghan Trainor and Solange beating Jay-Z in an elevator, ffs.)
I had goals for this year.
Some personal, others professional and a few to do with emotions and relationships with people around me. I must say that, after considerable weeks of mental anguish, tears, breakdowns and (what felt like) crippling agony, I’ve learned to pick my battles wisely. I once spoke up about things but now, I find silence to be a much better companion. Moments of faltering confidence are now replaced with indifference and hard work; anything to distract from feeling upset over ‘silly things.’ (Well, they’re not so silly to me but que sera sera.) And although I may not always find this to be emotionally fulfilling, on the plus side, it saves a lot of time and negative energy and I for one am done with asking questions for which I seldom get answers, done with speaking out on my beliefs and world views, done with trying to convince small minds otherwise (bloody Sri Lankan aunties!)
I like my professional goals a lot better because for the most part, I’ve hit the bulls-eye on each one. Thankful to discover that in my last year of university, I still have the capacity to work as hard as I once did and with all the experience I’ve had in the past few months, it feels like I’ve learned enough to push through the next few weeks. (At least, I hope so.) It’s sad how anything to do with logic and duty is so much more easier to achieve when in time, it will wear you out and turn you into an over-worked pumpkin.
As for other things, well —
I’m not too sure.
The sad part is, I’m tired of trying. Tired of obsessing, worrying and feeling not-good-enough. It’s funny how something you want more than anything in the world, something that once felt insignificant, is suddenly everything that defines you.
I could be over-thinking.
Actually, I am.
But it’s difficult not to.
I’m not too sure (second time I’m saying that) where to go from here. Part of me wants to keep pushing, keep asking all the right questions, keep fueling this spirit (ye gads that was corny — lets just got with it for now) with the same passion I once had.
But for what?
There’s only so much you can devote towards empty promises.
There’s only so much I deserve to worry and wonder the way I do.
And to be honest, I’m tired of feeling exhausted.
On the plus side though, there were people and places that made all the worrying and sadness tolerable; journeys that caught my focus, memories that convinced me I was quite capable of a lot of things, friends who made sure I was okay, family who sat and listened (for a change!) and love that kept me warm. But despite it all, I must say, battling feelings of anxiety and self-worth is difficult; even if you have a band of Vikings on your side.
It’s your battle to fight.
So. I’m moving on. It’s about time I learned how to, anyways. Sticking to shit only leaves you with poop on your hands.
You wouldn’t want that.