Tiredness these days:
- Lasts longer
- Creeps faster
- Is a weariness that drips into my bones
- And sleeping in on a weekend isn’t enough for a cure
That’s how I know I’m in my 30’s.
Tiredness these days:
That’s how I know I’m in my 30’s.
I never actually wrote about how any of my romantic relationships ended, mostly due to the near-decade of trying to get over the friendships that did. Friendship-over’s were more traumatic, and romantic endings were less so (for me they never were).
This is three years overdue. I feel like it’s a conversation I’ve never had with anyone. Not with you, not with my old friends. Snippets shared with a few people when they asked. I was engaged, and then I was not, and then I was moving on from an old relationship into the new.
Still, that was seven — eight — years (almost all my 20’s) being in a relationship with the same person. I’m either stupid enough for staying with someone that long, or lucky enough I didn’t get married and avoided a divorce.
I think I’m the asshole for breaking up with you abruptly, saying I want a “break” when I was so sure I was already moving on even before I finally tried to end it. I’m probably the asshole for doing it without an explanation, apart from the misery I knew we were both feeling. My expectations of you were too high; I was always angry, or annoyed. I thought I didn’t have to explain exactly why. Besides, you never asked.
We broke up because I didn’t love you enough to stay with you. I didn’t even love you enough to look forward to talking to you during those last few months of our relationship. I didn’t love you enough that you had to walk on eggshells around me, and curate the things you share because you were worried I’ll explode in complaints and anger.
We broke up because I didn’t love you enough to wait for you. I was always dissatisfied. Because everyone around me felt more successful than you. Because you had dreams, but you haven’t reached them yet and I was too impatient for the day that you would. Because I outgrew you. Because I wanted to settle down overseas, and you couldn’t. Because my plans made sense in my head, and yours didn’t.
We broke up because I wasn’t happy when you proposed. Because I wanted to end it even before the trip to Europe but I thought, with everything already booked I might as well do it after. Instead, I went back engaged. I wasn’t excited to share how I said ‘yes’, and was envious of my friends who were happily sharing about their own proposals. I never even said I didn’t like the ring because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings — but now I can be honest to myself. I’ve only had one proposal so far, and it was the worst.
We broke up because I was bullied and exorcised for going out with you. Because I suffered alone and had to beg and cry for you to take my side. Because you never protected me from your friends who traumatised me and hurt me, and so I had to rely on myself to be resilient, survive, and heal.
We broke up because there was no reason for me to rely on you. I wanted you to spoil me, but you never spent as much as I spent on you. I was doing so well on my own throughout my career, throughout the times I moved to different countries, throughout the personal goals I smashed through — I was doing so well alone, there was absolutely no reason to miss you.
We broke up because someone said: love is a decision. For 2,922 days I decided to stay with you, until one day I decided I no longer wanted to.
I’m happier now, and I’m sure you are, too.
I’ve been feeling quite down the past few weeks because I’m dancing two steps forward and one step back with eczema. It would seem like my skin is healing…and then it isn’t. I’ve grown very desperate, and so far I’ve tried:
Are they working? I’m not sure.
What I haven’t tried:
With the way things are going, I am not winning my battle with eczema. I’m stuck on a stalemate, and that’s not the happy news I wanted to write about.
Things have a bright side, as cliche as that sounds. Because if I don’t believe in bright sides, I don’t think I’ll convince myself I have the grit to endure. Ever since I’ve tried to emulate Secretary Kim, it’s been ever so slightly easier and more habitual to take on every thing Life tries to fling at me. (And with an idol like Secretary Kim, I aspire to handle every thing with finesse.)
No, my first win for 2021 is not my battle against eczema. It is my 4-day work week!
I’ve always been secretly envious of my colleagues (past and present) who work only 4 days. It’s been a while but ever since I received docked pay due to COVID-19, I’ve always wanted to negotiate for a 4-day work week. Now that I’ve reached a milestone at work, I finally achieved it!!! (My colleague says once you experience it, there is no going back.)
I don’t know yet how this will change how I live, but I know for sure it’s a big, good thing.
I don’t think there’s any going back to what the world was before COVID. 2020 has forced people to move, forced some to stay, forced people to make decisions and hurled others into unexpected problems or setbacks. It forced people to adapt and change, or risk being left behind.
More than a week into 2021, I’m trying to get into my new ‘normal’:
I’ve spent most of 2020 trying to survive and cope. But I need to start growing again.
There’s a number of things that I feel I should write down. The last two weeks felt like tall waves crashing onto the shore — natural, even expected, forceful and a little strong. I’ve left my first job in Melbourne to start another journey of self-worth. I’ve ended a relationship of 8 years. I’m relearning what it means to trust and rely on someone.
The earth continues to rotate, space continues to expand, and life goes on. This time I don’t have to carry the disappointments and unmet needs that built up over eight years. I’ve let go of the expectations and missed opportunities of the last eight months. I’ve been exploring what it means to not be alone in the last eight days.
Maybe some of the things weren’t what I expected. It took a long time for me to accept breaking up was the best decision for myself. Work goodbyes felt lonesome, but some people I didn’t imagine were supportive and I received words that touched me and made me believe I’ve done my best. I never would’ve guessed I’d hear, “I’ll take care of you”, from someone when I’ve been well enough on my own. Those moments felt poignant, but also sincere and heartfelt. Maybe I should trust myself a little more. I’ve already gone a long way, after all.
I can think and I can think and I still wouldn’t know what to do. I’m not doing a very splendid job of ignoring my problems.
Fuck, I can’t remember some bits from last night.
That’s my wake-up thought this morning after getting home from a night of drinking.
I should scold myself more for my lapses of judgment. I mean, I’m not a college student anymore seeking short-lived highs and thrills.
It’s like I’m asking for it because something’s wrong with me and I like the loss of control. I close my eyes and ears and put on this whatever persona. Have fun now, think later.
But adulting means I should know better. Overcome the convenience afforded by stupidity.
It’s been an awful week. I believe I was totally asking for that opportunity to get drunk. I reverted to my college self the moment I’m in a house-drinking party (or, who am I kidding. The moment I’ve decided to go for it for an evening).
I can be introspective now but I still won’t recover memories my brain failed to save last night.
Well, no shit.
I think I’ve holed myself up in a corner of disappointment and self-loathing over my writing. I’ve been staring at writing prompts and whenever I do, my brain freezes into a black hole of blankness. I imagine characters with no plots, and I’ve been writing short, bland pieces that’s never interesting enough to comment on. I just feel like I’m just really incredibly awful at writing fiction and I’m trying to make up for it by reading shoujo manga heroines that point me towards optimism and mental litanies of “I will work harder”, “never give up”, and “I will do my best”.
So rather than not writing at all, I’ve crawled back into this online blog of mine to ramble about my lack of progress, an absence of passion (since I’m not trying harder), and maybe a great deal of procrastination. What I’ve done most of, these past two weeks, was consumption.
To be honest, I haven’t actually read so much manga (and shoujo at that) in possibly the past three or four years as I have been these past couple of days. I’ve been reading on the train, in the toilet, during lunch breaks. I feel like I’ve forgotten what life felt like in high school and college and somehow believed I’d get some pointers from manga aimed at young girls. While most of them were a far cry from the complexities of characters in science fiction YA novels, there were girls that I identified with even at (gasp) this late age of almost-thirty. There were even a few gems that made me laugh, and stories with plots that kept me glued until two in the morning. Then I’d get up at seven, go to work, and force myself to bring myself down to my offline avatar persona.
Somewhere along the way I thought it’ll inspire me to write something, or figure out what I want to write exactly, but it hasn’t been the case. I mean, if anything I should probably continue to sit down and force myself to type anything even if the words don’t end up spinning any kind of story.
I’ve been thinking a little about this and also, why am I doing this again exactly? I need a short story written by March if I’m to remind myself of this quarter’s Key Result for Writing. For no other reason than a small desire to become a Light Novel author (maybe more like wishful thinking or imagination on my part. A shallow reflection of an alternate-universe me who took up writing as a career). It’s not really clear to me what this is for at the end of the day. Like, how would this ever benefit me or my career or my personal growth, I don’t know. Maybe I’m still hoping I’d eventually connect with someone through writing communities for as long as I keep trying. That one day I’d finally write something that would trigger any kind of response from a stranger. I don’t think I’m ever writing for the sake of telling a story, but rather I’m always looking to elicit a reaction, a reply, from somebody.
Most days though, it’s just silence and more silence much like this blog is bereft of conversation.
To desire everything and nothing at once
I’ve managed to work an extra 36 hours in the past two weeks. My spirit is tired. Waking up at seven, leaving the office at five, then back in front of my monitor in my room-turned-office at eight. Watching a slice-of-life Chinese drama (Story of Ming Lan) and reading shoujo manga in between and I’ve managed to fill the vacant seconds with things — to do, to pay attention to. It’s dangerous, sometimes, to be in a tea party with only me and myself.
But there are still minutes, like the walk from the house to the station or the bus stop to the house, where I’m left alone with my thoughts. Without work or stories to distract from the memories that prod the scabs on my heart — it’s exactly like my skin eczema — I’m always subconsciously scratching on the thoughts of people, of something I don’t have.
In those free moments, I’ve been imagining my characters and their stories. I’ve picked up writing early in January and I’ve been playing out imaginary conversations, hypothetical situations, and non-existent relationships. Sometimes, they are what-could-have-been’s. While reading manga, I conjure scenes of friendships that endured. They are nice, and those moments make me wistful.
To desire everything
It’s not like the past hurts — those small wounds have scabbed over, after all. I just accidentally pick on my skin. I’ve been resigned, for a while now, of people that have come and gone. I’m not thinking things could be different for myself. I wake up every day, live another day. Life is like that.
I wonder if this is something I’ll bury with me when I die.
The past is past, but today I thought, I must truly have been such a rotten person for two friends I kept close to reject me like that. I must have been disliked a lot.
at once and to desire it
Nowadays I’m not close enough with anyone to feel rejected, or betrayed. No shared moments, or special memories. Everything is as expected. Everything is okay.
all the time