If you gotta go, go now

One half of me believes that you'd stay.

It believes that you care about me.

That you're in it; both of your feet in the boat and you're ready to sail.

That of course you meant everything you said; because words have meaning.

Another half of me just can't wait for you to go.

It's hanging by a thread, knowing that it'll happen eventually.

That you'll leave; you have one foot out of the boat already.

That you never meant anything you said; because lies just sound better and that's all they were.

A Love Affair

Another item on my bucket list just ticked off. I now can proudly announce that I've done solo traveling before I turn 25 and it was truly a love affair to me since this is exactly my favorite  city in the world: New York City.

I've traveled alone before, but usually it's either for business or my partner makes me feel alone (yep, things just get sad quickly around here). Never before I have the chance to be alone in a great city that becomes home to millions of people and yet, all the time that I was there, I never felt lonely.

When you travel solo, you are literally alone. No one knows your name. No one knows what you are actually doing and why. You are free to shape your own image, create your own story, make your own decisions (either it's only about what to eat for dinner or what you're gonna do in a cold, dark, night). You are only where you want to be; when you want to be, and how you want it to be. Depending on how you see it, the world either doesn't exist to you (it's all you!) or you don't exist to the world.

You are completely on your own, and let's face it: when do you think was the last time you are so far, so independent, from any label attached to you? Probably never before.

I have never feel more liberated than I ever did the whole time I was there. I could choose where I want to be. I could be in bed at 8 pm in my hotel room, or I could be in a stranger's bed in Astoria, having sex with someone I'd never have to care about ever again in my life.

It could've been anything. Nothing, and no one, was stopping me.

And New York--there's no better place to be alone than New York. You've heard countless stories about it. The lonely, the distraught, the drunks, the drug addicts, the workaholics, the shamed sluts... you've heard it all. You can see yourself in that woman sitting next to you at the subway station, or the little boy standing alone holding on to his science project inside the train. You can see yourself in the hard-working construction worker who never stopped shouting. You can see yourself in virtually everyone you meet--or even see--in the street. It's a bowl with millions of people looking for... oh, who knows?

Maybe that's the reason why people love New York.

If you could see yourself in almost every single person you encounter, you'd never feel so alone in the world.

If you could see yourself that you're no alone in the world--that someone is having a day as hard as you, a life as tough as yours, a future that you're not sure yet but willing to work for... you're not going to feel like the world is falling apart and everything is going against you.

What I Talk About When I Talk About "We are The Choices We Make"

My birthday is in April, and this year I will be turning 25 years old.

Even three, four years ago, I would've thought of a 25 year old woman as "mature" or "confident" or "nuanced." Today, three months shy of my 25th anniversary, I realized how far I am from all of those words I used to associate this age with.

Why? Here's my train of thoughts:

My mother was exactly my age today when she married my father, a good 36 years ago. She was 24, but three months away from her 25th birthday. She had been working for a couple of years, I guess, but had been dating my father for about five years. Nineteen months after that, her first child was born. She was 26 years and four months old.

I was cooking dinner in my kitchen tonight and, looking back at a series of failures I've had in that area of my apartment, I thought to myself, how exactly did women my age do it? I don't even know how to cook rice properly. I don't know how to make eggs the way my mother used to do it. I don't know anything! 

As if I wasn't feeling bad enough, I thought of my friends who are now married with baby--babies, even. They're my age. They got married some time ago, even younger than the age my mom married my dad. They have completely different lives from me now. They hear cries night and day. They carry babies. They have regular sex with their husbands. They post pictures of their small families...

Did I feel a tinge of envy?

Maybe. I'm not sure what to name that feeling. I don't think it was, though.

I guess it was a sense of my mind wandering off to a foreign land, an alternate universe where I am living my friends' lives.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but think of what if? Because I know the state that I am in... and I don't think I have ever seen myself being as happy as the pictures they post of them with their babies.

Because if the question is whether I'm ready for that kind of life, I will be sure to answer that there is no way that I am ready for it right now, let alone a few years back.

But what if I made myself ready? Just... what if? Will I ever look as happy as they do in those pictures?

Once Upon a Snowy January

We were sitting down on my couch, a soft ballad that I've never heard of playing on the TV that shows a video of somebody playing guitar in the middle of a bright forest. I looked outside, snowflakes come falling down as if dancing right outside the window. It was a gloomy day, but somehow felt bright enough to paint a beautiful picture in my head.

You were eating toast with your legs folded up in the cushion. I was just happy with my morning coffee, resting my elbow with an enormous mug on the backrest. You were talking stories about your high school years. Your mother and sisters. Your late father. The family you left and missed the most.

I did not know what I was supposed to feel about you. Until today.

Looking at you, listening to your stories. Seeing your laugh and smile. There is a voice inside my head that softly whispers, "Take a mental picture of this moment and keep it in your mind."

And I did.

So that even though it will not work well, even though this very moment was the end of it all... Even though this moment was a sign of good bye

.

.

.

I will still have this moment.

Maybe not you. Maybe not the happiness that slipped into my heart like a cup of hot tea on a cold day just like this... but this moment.

I will always have this moment.

And that would be enough.

A Good Year

Welcome to another episode of year end review, where I try to give you the very essence of the past year in my personal life. This page has always been personal, and it's always been awfully me (I don't even try to make a witty URL at all). The reason why I believe in telling you these things, whoever you are, my dear reader, is because I know that you're wonderful human beings and if you keep coming to read something I post here, it's because you care. Not curious, but care. The older I get, the more I realize that it's not everyday you meet someone who actually cares. But you guys do. Thank you for reading (which in a way, for listening) what I had to say. I can never thank you enough.

Next year, I'll be 25 years old. I have been hearing about the infamous "quarter-life crisis" from my friends and I know that they are real. Of course, people in their 30s that I know will just roll their eyes, "Oh come on, don't be dramatic." but I trust my friends and if they feel it, it must be real. I think as a society, we should be mature enough by now that whatever someone say they feel is real. Don't shrug it off. Don't say it's not real or it's just them. That is exactly how so many mental health issues went undiagnosed.

I feel like 2017 have been preparing me for that very crisis. This year, I've been traveling and moved to a different country by myself. I've tried saving up some money. I've tried being alone with myself a lot and thus facing my own fears, coming to terms with who I am and what I am. It's been absolutely exhausting, but the result hasn't been absolutely devastating.

On the contrary, I feel like I've been doing some things a little differently than I used to do it. It's probably because the circumstances have changed: the available time, resources, space... many things, really. But also, maybe because I was anticipating the quarter-life crisis that's gonna come at me in mere four months. After all, worst comes to worse, I have to be ready, right? I have to survive. I have to, somewhat, be strong enough to do that.

God, this has been a wonderful year. People say time flies when you're enjoying it, and it's just what happens to me and 2017.

Thank you for this opportunity to live up 2017. I will forever remember this year as the year where things just take a turn into the better.

When was the last time?

I don't believe in "you just know."

What an awful answer that is. "How do you know?" "You just know."

My problem with that is: You never actually know. You could be wrong. Or, you could be right that you do know, but somehow it's not reciprocated.

I don't believe in "soulmate."

It's just a lazy word for explaining how things just work, how compatible they are, and how two people can see themselves willing to tolerate each other.

My problem with that is: If there are soulmates in this life, mine should have been you. But I don't think that we'll ever get any closer than that.

I don't think that we'll ever look at each other in the eye and feel equally relieved that, against all odds, we found each other.

And I don't know, do I? All I know is that I can't remember the last time I looked at someone and thought to myself, will you just look at him?

Because, God.

Your warm smile.

Your intoxicating laugh.

Your sense of humour.

Your mild sarcasm.

Your soothing voice.

Your eyes. On me.

. . .

If there was ever such a thing as soulmate, and how you know that is "you just know" ... Then you are mine. You should be mine. Because I just know.

But you're not, are you?

Friendship, Reflected

People told me that the older you get, the smaller your circle of friends would become.

I don't like to tell people that it's impossible to find new friends when you're an adult, but it's just... you change. You change your idea of what friendship means. You change your priorities. You change your view about someone, because then you realize that they weren't in a phase: it was them all along, and you can't change that. And most importantly, you change your mind. You made up your mind into thinking that you don't need toxic friends in your life. One way or another, you learn that if you know that a friend only brings you headache, you need to cut them out.

Somebody told me that I seem to have a very tight-knit group of friends who are solid. I don't know what kind of image I presented to the world, but I would assume that they thought I have the kind of group of friends like the friends in Friends (yes, that TV show we've been watching for the gazillionth time on Netflix). I guess that's true to a certain extent... I mean, there is not a lot of us, and we do seem to have some certain permanent members.  But in hindsight, I may have had a mild test run on that phase of life filtering out people who will no longer stay in it.

I know I'm not that old, so spreading wisdom shouldn't be my cup of tea yet. But I'm the kind of 24 year old who find enlightenment from her 17-year-old writings and old tweets, so I guess I am Ms. Smarty Pants.

The way I see it (and I did not see it this way before, because I'm an adult and... I change), what makes friends friends is commitment. Surprise, surprise. Turns out friendship does look a lot like romantic relationship, huh?

My friends and I have been though a phase where we did not see each other for a period of time and the humans we see were literally from a certain group of people: co-workers, family at home, clients. Uber drivers, maybe. That's it. And life (I guess) wasn't so bad that way, but it was not a good life. I personally missed my friends, missed our inside jokes, and felt pathetic for not knowing a world outside of people at work that I could not even choose at all.

I guess it worked similarly with my friends that at a certain point, we collided. We decided that we may not have as much time together as we did back then. We know we have different priorities now. We know that being selfish is so teenager/early 20s bitch. So we changed. We began to compromise: with time, and place, and not having the presence of everyone.

The older you get, the more you understand that it's a little too much to ask for someone to be 24/7 there for you. I know that there are all of these songs and movies written about friends who are always there for you, even when it's 2 AM and you're trying to hook up with some random guy, but that just doesn't happen. Sure, some people have that person and it's great for them. But if you don't have that? Honey, it's probably only because real life isn't always like that!

x

Horse Power

If you have not made yourself familiar with Netflix's BoJack Horseman, you should.

It's funny, and at times, can be strangely scary. In a good way, though. In a way that desperate, possibly depressed young people approaching quarter-life crisis would appreciate.

Thank me later.

Coming into terms with... who else?

I miss everyone. I miss my mom and dad. My sisters. My best friends. Even my former co-workers. I miss the routine that I was familiar with in past 3 years. I miss coming home to a group of people with whom I should make proper interaction with, even though we usually didn't (because everyone has a life and were somehow weary of it). I miss every single thing that I had back home. And as to everything else that has ever happened before, I didn't realize how precious they are.

It's probably part of adjusting to a new life, or a mere mechanism that my subconscious mind made when she's faced with very real issues here (friends with wives and kids who go to school, bills that keep on coming and so forth) but here I am, learning to understand myself so hard in order to accept it better.

What that entails: spending most of time alone with myself, listening to my own inner voices, and confronting my deepest, worst fears to tame some parts of me that I haven't made peace with. What I found so far has been kind of... strange.

I feel like nobody should love me.

Self-loathing is so high school. I know that. Still, that doesn't mean that I don't experience it anymore.

And as if that kind of self-loathing doesn't create insecurity and paranoia that aren't crippling enough, trust me, it's so lonely to feel like that in this place. In this country. In this school. With this environment. Nobody actually have time to dwell and indulge in that kind of suffering or whatever self-pity that I'm feeling. 

A Certain Kind of Happiness

It was so vividly true and I can sense your being right there; holding me in your arms, my head resting on your muscular shoulder, not letting me go away. You told me you love me, and this relationship (or lack of official status thereof), though short, is real. That you were glad that we finally confirmed it due to the little guy's arrival; because if it wasn't for him, we'd probably will never take it seriously.

I remember feeling so happy---not shameful, as many would expect me to be. I was over the moon, and I couldn't remember feeling the same way ever. I've been happy these days, obviously. But it's something about this kind of happiness--this particular, certain kind of happiness that fills my heart with so much joy. This feeling that I was loved, and you are the giver of the love, that I was not expecting I'd miss.