Twenty and Living

I had an epiphany recently. Just a few days before my twentieth birthday. I did a lot of thinking on that day. So much so that I felt the need to map it out right now and share it with the internet.

I suppose two decades is nothing when you're 80 or a 100, but when you just hit the big two zero mark, you begin to reflect on all the days you can remember from the last twenty years and you realise so much has happened. So many memories. So many days of laughter. So many hours of crying. Just so many things occurred. And to think that those moments will only amount to a small, minuscule fraction of your entire life....I guess what I'm trying to say is that eventually, when you put things into perspective, nothing really matters.

Or maybe it does?

I'm about to get really personal here, so feel free to stop reading if you're not interested.

I've always been an uptight person. I like to have things organised, spices on the racks where they belong. It gets on my nerve if a single dish is left overnight in the sink. Yes, I am that person. And I've never been particularly proud of that aspect of me. I will overthink every situation. I'm an over-thinker. Even as I'm writing this, I'm wondering if you'll find me boring. And because of my anxious personality, I've missed out on many opportunities in life. The almost-relationships because I was scared of letting people close; the many broken friendships because I refused to be the first one to apologise, and many more if I tried to recall.

Already, I've regretted so much; there were so many things I wish I had done or hadn't done. If only I had a time machine, here's a list of things I would change starting from one to infinity.

And that made me ask the bigger question: do I still want to feel like this at 80? When the regrets could have very much multiplied and I would be at my death bed wishing I did this and that.

No. I wouldn't want that at all. And I think everyone can say the same. Sadly even though we can all agree to want a life with no regrets, most of us are still scared to really leave the comfort zone and venture into the unknown. And there really is nothing wrong with feeling afraid. It's a completely rational argument. There's nothing wrong with living a boring life. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to go to that MMA class you've been dying to join for ages because you're intimidated. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to try drugs because you don't want your parents to be disappointed in you. There's nothing wrong with avoiding the gym because you feel self-conscious around steroid-loaded men.

That was always how I would talk myself out of situations I didn't feel comfortable being in.

It's not a crime for wanting to feel safe and secure or for just being extremely ordinary. 

But then one day, comfort got boring.

I didn't enjoy staying in all the time. I didn't like being the same person I was three years ago. I was bored because nothing was changing in my life. I used to complain that my friends were changing without me and moan about it all the time, but then I never thought to ask myself, why am I not changing? What's so perfect about the current me that I should stay the exact same way all my life?

Right?

So I started taking risks. Small ones. Then slowly, I was learning to enjoy being in places I would never find myself in.

Like the MMA gym. Or the tattoo parlour.

The latter, especially, that if my parents found out I had stepped foot in, would immediately lose their shits and disown me.

But I walked in anyway. Knowing very well that all the trust my parents had of me was slowly shattering to bits. The needle jabbed and jabbed. And an hour later, I walked out with a mark on my side. An intricate flower that had no meaning, but the significance of the mark didn't lie in its design but rather the reason as to why I walked in there in the first place.

I walked in there not as an act of deviance. I walked in there because I wanted, for once in my life, to start living for myself and not for my parents or for whatever expectations I was being put against. I was walked in there because I was suffering.

To say that I left feeling cured would be a lie. But I did, however, feel stronger. More empowered. Proud. Fucking badass. And just this great sense of relief that I had done this.

For myself.

Months leading up to this great moment of realisation, I suffered from bulimia. And the worst part was that I knew how much it tormented me, yet I let it take over my life. For so long, I couldn't speak to anyone or seek for help because I was so ashamed that I would disappoint or even ruin the image people had of me. I didn't look like the person that would self-harm. I didn't look like someone who would let her insecurities get the better of her. I just didn't look like that and I believed that too.

But who would have thought, an attempt to get in better shape spiralled into an eating disorder and led me to a dark pit of despair and helplessness. Even an uptight 19-year old who looks like she has her life together, actually has nothing at all.

I told myself everyday that if this was truly rock bottom then I can only get better from there. Better days are ahead, and all that motivational jargon.

But it didn't get better because I wasn't doing anything about it. I wasn't changing my mindset. I was still stuck in my old habits of punishing myself if I ate just above my calorie limit.

It was dreadful. Waking up was a pain. Eating felt like breathing in hell. Mirrors only reflected flaws. And there were so many of them.

The problem I realised in that never-ending cycle was that, of course, I landed myself in such a tough place because I wanted to constantly fulfil everybody's expectations. I'm not just talking in terms of body-image, but everything else as well.

I wanted to be skinny because thin bitches were generally more well-liked. I wanted to be top of the class because it made my parents happy. I wanted to be _______ because it _________.

It was as though you could write whatever you want and I would make it happen because I wasn't satisfied with who I was at all.

This is not to say that everybody should go get themselves marked because it will magically solve all your insecurities. But my point is, if you've lived your life so far wishing you had done things differently, then maybe you need to reconsider your priorities because chances are, you're not putting yourself first. It's time to take matter into your own hands. Screw what people think of you. No more self-loathe.

No more regrets.

No more excuses.

No more taking the easy way out.

I'm leaving this as a note to myself. Don't ever look back and question yourself for the decisions you make. Don't look back with regret because you were trying so hard to be somebody else. It's your life now. Take a leap of faith. Live it the way you would live it.

Chicken and Muesli

The looking glass is staring at me and it's telling me that there's a girl.

One with bright, curious brown eyes, a button nose she hates and a pair of lips she loves. Her face gradually turns pink and warm. She knows what she's doing is wrong and unkind, yet her body won't listen and her heart won't forgive. She pulls her hair back in a ponytail and lowers her body forward with two fingers sticking down her throat. She jabs, she rubs, and she inhales the scent of the toilet because she's read somewhere that doing so will make it easier. She imagines. Rubbish. Faeces. Earthworms. Maggots. And all the things she fucking hates. People included. She thinks. About all the calories she's consumed just five minutes ago. The Oreos, four of them; the muesli, her mother's that she discreetly stole; the mango, the raspberries, the salad leaves, the chicken, the almonds.

She calculates in all mathematical functions. Plus, minus, multiply, divide, equals...a monster. One that can't control her cravings or her addiction. She tries harder, she goes deeper. Her bare skin rubbing the leaf-shaped flap of tissue that she now know is called the epiglottis that sits at the end of her tongue. Her nails are scratching against the back of her throat. It hurts, but she says the pain is only momentary. She prays that it will all be over soon; that if this time she can undo every bad thing she did, then she will never do it again. Never EVER. Because she knows that if she feeds it, this monster will grow out of her control. But today, just today, she will let it free. As long as it's undoing her mistakes, then maybe she will get to feel free too.

Her stomach grumbles. Loudly. But she isn't hungry. It's a sound she's familiar with. She can't describe how it feels to have food travelling backwards but she knows that she feels better when it does. Her reflection in the water turns murky and grey and all she recognises are the bits of chicken and muesli combined in a strange, dirty, dough-like mixture.

But it's not over yet. That was only a small fraction of what she ate. Tonight she promised herself that she would let it all out, so that once it does, her body will burn calories from lunch and breakfast. Only when there's nothing left to burn will she be happy.

Unfortunately, she's not one to break promises either.

She walks over to the sink half an hour later and runs the tap over her fingers, watching the residue tango with the water and swirl into the drain. She looks up at the looking glass and she sees a beautiful young lady. Pretty eyes, thick eyebrows and well-defined cheekbones that protrude. She tries to smile but she can't. A strand of her hair has fallen loose so she tucks it behind her ear. She stares. Blankly. Confused. Disappointed. All at the same time. She sighs.

Why do you do this to yourself, she wonders. And a hand comes slapping across her cheek.

Why do you, she asks again and another slap follows.

You are perfect, she says.

Yes, you are. Believe it. She repeats.

But after several attempts, she knows she doesn't mean it. And she laughs. Dryly. At the joke that she's grown to become.

The phone buzzes. The music stops. She must go now.

She rinses her mouth and wipes the guilt off her face. Closed eyes, deep breaths, in and out. Inhale. Exhale.

Open, says the looking glass.

And there it was, the familiar tear that runs down her left cheek.

She's not broken, only damaged. Just unhappy and trying to figure out why.

But there's always hope. That one day, she can fix things, and go back to the way she was. Because her life is perfect, and the mirror reminds her that.

The gushing of the water echoes in the bathroom, and with it, her sins flushed away for good. Except all that remains is the guilt she harbours. One that lives and feeds the caged-up monster that comes out to play in the brightest of days, and in the loneliest of nights.

Is This It?

I'm sure, at some point, we've all questioned whether what we do is something that is truly our calling. I've been thinking a lot lately, mostly because I still find myself questioning and to no avail. Is creative writing something I really am passionate about? But I can't write that well, so what's the point? What if I'm just wasting my time again?

I've come to the realisation that a lot of the big decisions I make in my life are just an excuse of running away. From people, feelings, all sorts. It sounds silly to speak of it now, but at the time, going abroad was a reason to stay away from things I wasn't ready to deal with. To be honest, I do plan of going somewhere else after my degree. Again, I think I'm running away but I'm not exactly sure why or what I'm so afraid of in my present reality.

I shared my concerns with my mom regarding my "true calling" and she gladly said that my parents would be happy to pay for another degree if I wanted to quit university and try again. As much as I appreciate their help financially, I don't want to put that burden on them. A lot of the times, I wallow in guilt because I don't feel like I've deserved what was and is given to me. My parents work hard so I don't have to suffer. Isn't that wrong and shouldn't it be the other way around?

I clearly remember when I submitted my UCAS application that my dad said to me that this step forward is a permanent one. 'You've made the bed so you lie in it' was the quote he used, and ever since I've been carrying that weight and thinking about every worst case scenario that could happen if this wasn't my true calling.

Three weeks into the new semester and I can safely say that my mind has been so intellectually challenged that I can feel my brain ache after a seminar. I'm reading books that have zero or a thousand meanings and quite frankly I don't enjoy it as well as my peers but I'm hanging in there. Luckily, I do have a scriptwriting module that allows me to create stories and write them despite how lame and corny they are. But hey, I figured what's really important on this journey isn't the degree or the grades (actually they do matter a lot), but it's the fact that I'm learning everyday. I find myself critiquing films all the time and I'm not the same person who buys into everything a movie does, which is great. And just today I thought maybe if the film industry is my calling instead.

Looking back now I realised I spend most of my time watching films and talking about them to people is my favourite thing to do ever. I stumbled on a Buzzfeed article about the best movies ever nominated for an Oscar and to my own surprise, I've actually seen most of them (thanks Dad for the extensive film exposure since I was five) so then maybe this is what I want.

Although knowing myself I will probably be in the industry for about two years and suddenly quit because I got bored. My attention span is of a two-year old's.

Anyway, this is seemingly useless to post on my blog but here's to all my fellow peers and friends and strangers who are currently feeling like a wet, lost puppy, you will get there eventually. Just keep walking (or swimming as Dory puts it) and a kind stranger will adopt you into their big fat hearts.

- K.W

Lost.

I tell myself to take it one sentence at a time but why is it so hard? Have I lost all inspiration to write, to create, to inspire? Slowly I’m beginning to lose my self-confidence through my writing. I haven’t been blogging since last November. Are my creative juices finally running out for good?

I feel unnecessary sometimes. I want to create things that can inspire people, things that say “hey listen up.”, but is this wish too unrealistic? I’m a big advocate of chasing dreams, no matter how big or small, and sometimes I wish I could listen to the self that’s encouraging and not the voice that’s doubting every action I take. I want to create change but how does one do that without being the change?

Up until very recently I’ve been cutting out bad energy from my life. Friends I no longer speak to, people I don’t want to know anymore and I have isolated myself in a circle of positivity. Initially it felt empowering. I was in control of what made me happy and I was aware of the things that didn’t. I made a conscious effort to improve myself. I went to the gym. I adopted a vegan lifestyle. I stopped looking in the mirror as often and I resisted urges to take tons of selfies just to justify my existence in our superficial world. I was a very happy person. But now I’ve hit a bump. And I know I will overcome it at some point, but right now I’m stuck.

After cutting out all the badness in my life, there was space for new things. I found joys in cooking and exercising, and I felt more fulfilled. But the thing is, in taking away certain things, my life feels empty. Emptiness isn’t necessarily a bad thing in my opinion. I see it as space that needs filling, a dent in the ground that doesn’t disrupt the perfect surface but a hole to plant a new seed. I’m just trying to figure out what this empty space needs. It’s taking a while and I’m running out of patience.

I want to change but I don’t know what I want to change anymore. A video of Obama talking to a group of interns inspired me to question what I want to do in my life. He said it wasn’t about who you wanted to be but rather what you wanted to accomplish. I used to know but now I don’t. I want to know what went wrong along the way and why I’m feeling uncertain. What is causing my lack of motivation these past few months? Have I been too obsessed in improving myself that I’m losing track of who I am?

In a lecture recently I learned that new beginnings are not only a time of exciting opportunities but it’s also a time of fear and anxiety. Perhaps, somewhere unconsciously, I’m scared of this new version of me that I’m desperately trying to be. What if I don’t like myself again? What if I improve when I’m actually hating myself more? Will I ever be able to like me a hundred percent? Sometimes I do wonder if Beyoncé wakes up and decides that she isn’t “feeling herself” and then goes back to bed.

It’s week 2 and I’ve skipped two lectures already. As I’m writing this, I’m wallowing in guilt. I didn’t go because I had no reason to. I have no fresh ideas for my script and I have given up on writing. I’m not good and I will never be good so what’s the point of even trying. I wish I could rewind and go back to the time where I made this stupid life-changing decision. I should have waited until I knew myself well enough. If only some stranger had stopped me on the streets and said “don’t do it” then I would have listened because that is how naïve I am.

My mom told me a few days ago that in the five weeks that I have spent back home she was very pleased to see who I have become. She was proud, which made me happy.

I say that because it seemed appropriate. Happiness is a social construct. We are told to feel happy when certain things happen. We are told to feel disappointed when life isn’t all cut out like our imagination. What if emotions are just feelings we’re taught to learn? What if they aren’t actually genuine? What if? What if? What if?

So many questions but only a lifelong of living to find the answers. I know I’m not living when I don’t care what those answers are. I know I’m just going about my day through habit when I’m not concerned about asking those questions.

I feel that living is active. So instead of thinking I should be doing. Maybe the cure to this state of confusion is to get out of my own head and live in this present world. What use is fantasising about a life I can’t have especially when I’m not doing anything to achieve it.

I’m going to stop writing now. I have ranted enough. It’s time to wake up.