“I wandered around my early twenties, paying rent and reading classifieds and wondering why the lights were not turning green for me. My dream was to be a famous musician (I played the piano), but after several years of dark, empty nightclubs, broken promises, bands that kept breaking up and producers who seemed excited about everyone but me, the dream soured. I was failing for the first time in my life.” – Tuesdays With Morrie, Mitch Albom
Nostalgia is a funny thing. It makes you believe that things were better then. That the trauma you went through was justified. Because you turned out ok; in retrospect.
1. I don’t remember what my ankle looked like without my scar. I don’t even remember how I got this scar. But it is a part of me. It gives me character.
2. How to live and not just survive. To be engulfed by silence for days. To meditate without fearing the voices. To be wanted more than to be needed. To invest in ourselves. To choose ourselves. To normalize ourselves. To be enough. To feel enough. To love unconditionally and to be loved the same.
3. To love without fear.
I’m so tired.
Yet I must still work hard.
And hard work just makes me so tired…
Pic by: Tsoku Maela
You spent ages 21-31 trying. Trying so hard to be something. Someone. Ten years to finally let go of the anger you felt, overcompensating for the imperfections of a sibling. Ten years of flip flopping. Of here and there. Of crying. Of the blood, sweat and years. Of changing your mind. Of breaking down walls.
Trying so hard to make something of yourself. To make something stick. And everytime you think you’ve finally got it right, returning back to square one.
Ten years to realise that time is in fact cyclic and not linear.
Ten years of please love me, Why don’t you love me? Why am I not enough? Twenty years to realise that all that time you spent alone was training for the kind of life you would have to live.
Ten years of sunshine and rain. And storms and sunshine as rain. And storms and sunshine and sunshine. And storms and sunshine.
Ten years of watching people being applauded for breathing. While you move mountains in silence. So their journey can be easier.
Ten years of being everything to everybody and too tired to be your own best friend.
Ten years of trying to forgive yourself for not being a carbon copy of your parents. Of no longer apologising for who you are. Of rising above the “black sheep” label.
Ten years and counting of working on your spirituality. So that this shit won’t matter anymore. So that the urge to slit your wrists may finally go away.
Only to be diagnosed with anxiety and depression.
(No gummy bear)
Deleted and blocked only to be readded in the future
What does it matter?
Out of sight and out of mind, right?
I’m a walking contradiction
Like the next human being.
What I whisper to myself,
I never say.
And what I say never quite comes out right.
As I embark on this 30 day challenge,
So it’s this 30 day thing today.
I feel ready to test my creativity.
Maybe I should just delete the previous blogpost
To combine it with discipline
Act like I never shared it.
So I can grow.
No-one will remember anyway right?
With enough practice, I might gain enough courage
I mean, it’s less than an hour till the end of the day
To finally start writing that novel.
And if this first day is anything to go by
Besides, if I am able to write everyday,
Then the next 29 might be a struggle.
I could one day turn this blog into a business.
And I hate struggling.
Make it profitable.
So I wonder
But for now
At this very moment right now
Why bother with the baby steps?