Dependence of Self

July 7, 2017

This is something I would call my best friend for, something I could call my boyfriend to talk out, if I had one. This is something I’d vent to my brother about, or to a counselor or to confess to an unseen power watching over me, or to a friend thousands of miles away who has no other connection to otherwise make of it. This is something I’d personify in my alternate reality, a mind encapsulated within the pages of an unfinished, fictionalized autobiograhy.

But I’ve long grown past that.

I’ve become too independent about these things to the point where I’ve lost the profound relationships I ever had with anyone. No one knows anyone else in my life. No one knows what is going through my heart and my contorted mind. No one knows the true story of why I’m doing what I do, where my heading is, what my intentions are, whether self-empowering or self-destructive.

Some may consider it weakness, some would call it fear of judgment.

I simply do it because, well…

It’s simpler.

Introductions are Exhausting

July 6, 2017

Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely love meeting new people. It’s probably my favorite thing of all. I love finding out about places I’ve never been, places they’re from. I love learning about their personal stories and inspiration and anecdotes. My favorite part about it is meeting new people through those people, then I eventually end up with an entire cohort in another part of society that I was never comfortable in.

But after doing it for so long, is it wrong to feel overwhelmed and, dare I say… Exhausted?

Trying to keep a conversation with someone who initiated it is a bit ridiculous. Or maybe some people really don’t know how to conduct a decent conversation. I don’t know. There’s so much I want to know about a person but it’s a one out of three hundred chance I’ll get that far into it with the next person I meet, to be plainly honest.

There’s really only one conversation that I want to have and I don’t know when the next chance is that I’ll be given to have it…

Delicate, Timeless Copper

June 20, 2017

I want something to look forward to. Something to keep my eyes keen for, keep my chin up for. Something that will make me push forward through all the pain that lies ahead of me. Something that will make my heart hammer relentlessly in my throat.

I’m sure everyone, at one point or another in their lives, can relate to feeling like everything is falling over their head, like there’s nothing worth waging this war for and that the better solution would be to cave and watch the pillars you spent your life constructing simply tumble to the ground under pressure. I just wonder… How do they survive it?

I’m sitting in a room with walls and wallpapers covered in inspirational, motivational quotes, quotes that I’m sure many have taken for granted, myself included. But after having moments sadly to myself, I’ve since taken in my surroundings, learned to appreciate the quotes, the words of wisdom from times and people long forgotten. Maybe if I heed their command, wield their weapons of courage and fortitude, maybe, just maybe, I can make it through. Battered and broken, but stronger than I ever was.

“Don’t wait. The time will never be just right.”

-Napoleon Hill

Sweet like Rosewater

June 10, 2017

Props to you, man.

Just because, after all this time, and after I was sure I did something wrong, you’re still here. In another universe, I may as well have moved out already, moved somewhere no one but my closest of peers would think to search for me.

But now, there’s you.

You deal with my antics and stupid concerns. My insecurities and brutal honesty. You don’t exactly get me, or whatever type of madness I conjure up, but you empathize nevertheless.

It’s a rare thing for people to see me, hear my story, let me bend their ear about my internal, emotional warfare and uncertainty about my future and regrets of the past. And also, to simply listen while I reminisc on moments when I acted a fool with my other foolish, enabler friends in high school.

You try your best to relate to my problems because you know it makes me feel better, despite that we come from two completely different worlds and levels of humanity and flavors of life experience.

You laugh at my jokes—wholeheartedly, might I add—even though they’re awful and lack a real punchline. 

And even though I’m the type to gag at any sort of romantic gesture, you do it anyway (as I proceed to retch in response).

It’s almost overwhelming, your openness and transparency with me. I’m most assuredly not mentally and emotionally prepared for anything so pungent and palpable.

You’re pretty cool though. You get me, but not in a way that reflects me at all.

It’s great.

My Compass

June 9, 2017

I just want to know if I’m following the correct path. There’s nothing more unsettling than knowing, or not knowing rather, I’m going down a path that could or could not be the right one. There are so many reasons why or why not I’d be happy to change routes or continue on this unpaved, undiscovered path. I would live passively, but even passiveness necessitates a heading.

Hearing the criticism, the opinions, the insight from my peers and mentors alike, I’m torn between what should happen and what I’m hoping will happen.

Should I only follow where the compass points, to the north? Something else calls me by my name, but I still have no clear image or direction from where that birdsong originates.

My Life in Your Hands

June 6, 2017

I feel absolutely clueless around you, like I know nothing, nothing other than how to creatively represent my cluelessness with words, like I know nothing other than how to love and how to hide it or show it. I’m as intellectual as a blade of grass when it comes to the thought of you. I’m as sturdy and solid as water at room temperature when it comes to talking about you.

I’d trust you with my life, if it were up to me. I’d give you my heart at its beat, my soul on a silver platter, just to show you how much you mean to me. If I dropped to the floor right now, I’d trust you can catch me, coming from wherever, just to see to it that I don’t hurt myself.

I know you’d take care of me—I see it in your expression whether I unintentionally meet your eyes or simply feel your gaze on the back of my head, so confident in every other conversation but the one between you and me.

940 Days

June 5, 2017

Some days, I’m very sure of what I want to write about in a blog, based on that day’s events and the thoughts that run through my mind. But most days, I’m not. Some days the end goal, after everything else, is clear in my mind, but most days…

It’s not.

If anyone ever tells you it’s easy to “keep your eyes on the prize” and pursue whatever it is that you wish, they’re lying to you. It’s nearly impossible to spend so much devotion and dedication to something without losing a little faith, losing a little fidelity to it, especially in a low tide, a time of doubt and distress.

And sometimes, all you need is a little stroll through the park, to breathe, to forget everything you ever worried about and simply meditate on your greatest wish, your most ambitious dream, the gravity-defying and logic-denying holy grail of all wishes known and unknown to human existence.

It won’t be easy.

But you can do it.

Butterfingers

May 30, 2017

I get all bubbly and bumbling at the very thought of you. Everything slips out of my grasp, my own two feet become obstacles in my path.

I can’t help but sing the same two lines of one of my top Nat King Cole favorites along with whatever I do, like I live in a musical.

I never feel such emotion with anything else, such inexplicable, heart-stopping, stumbling, stuttering light-headedness. I’ve never come so close to fainting before, probably two or three times by now.

I can’t explain what this feeling is, why it is making me act this way. I’ve never felt so different, seen the world in this light, all because of this thing that’s… more than a feeling.

Thunder in the Vicinity

May 27, 2017

Today is one of the last days before I start another beatdown semester of medical professionalism and I can’t say I’ve felt more ready than not. In fact, despite that there are days when I wake up, totally prepared to conquer all 72 chapters of adult health and week after week of 12-hour rotations, I have to admit there have been more days where I spent more time doubting myself than eating or sleeping.

It’s difficult.

And no matter how I break it down—next year, four more semesters, a little over a year, only two more Augusts, one more Christmas and new year’s, less than a thousand days—it still sounds… awful. It still sounds like the 15 months I have left until the next biggest chapter in my life, and not even the chapter I’m really waiting to get to.

I’m not normally one to submerge myself in self-doubt or to marinate in dread, but all I can think about is how I could possibly get through this quickly and painlessly. And every which way I conjure up eventually becomes exhausted, leaving me in a fit of desperation and anxiety, trying to find another way to allay my worries, forget these stresses altogether.

I think I just want it all to pass me by while I simply have to just live through it, be the slow-moving figure within the blur of a fast-paced world around me. I think I want to gain the knowledge and experience right now and just be done with it. Everything seems to be tumbling down over my head and I can’t bear the weight. I’ve never felt more alone. And I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others, but shoot—the others are doing one hell of a better job than I am at knowing what they want to be in life at this age. The world is calling me by my first name, waiting for me, and I’m just itching to see it. I’m trying, with every ounce of power I have, to be optimistic, as I normally am, as I swore I always would be, but the cost-benefit ratio isn’t doing anything for me; it’s exhausting everything, every resource I have.

This all probably sounds like something you’d read from a psychology textbook about adolescent identity crisis or something of the sort. And maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

I don’t know.

I Don’t Drink Coffee

May 19, 2017

I like to push myself out of my comfort zone quite often (except when I start losing feeling in my toes). I try new things, see new places, then try those things in new, stupid ways in those new places.

I’m brazen in decision-making, especially when my emotions and personal identity are endangered. I will fight the devil himself for the sake of my dignity.

I’m a pessimist when it comes to blatantly impossible dreams, especially ones about celebrities. What makes them so different from you and I? We’re all human, we’re all unique. You just hear about their feats on TV and radio.

Despite what people think about me, I’m actually inhumanly lazy (like, j’ai la molle lazy) and wildly irresponsible (as I type this at 1:30 in the morning instead of sleeping).

I’m mediocre at personal hygiene and my skin is nowhere near flawless and I wear department store and overstock clothing because I’m what they call a penny pincher.

The only remotely relevant knowledge I have of sports are team names (if they’re even right) and the fact that most of them involve a ball and a masochistic level of endurance, the latter being what I lack any amount of.

And also, what is it about coffee? Of all the coffee I’ve tried in hopes of changing my impression of it, every frappucino was watery, every latte was too foamy, and every macchiato was nauseatingly sweet. If you’re going to ask me on a date, I’d rather you suggest a rom-com at home with chocolate popcorn and blankets that barely cover our feet.

Maybe this makes me an undesirable human being, so negative and uncontrollable, but the question then is: why would I care if someone has a problem with it?

You shouldn’t care either. Be your bust-out-loud cackling, heavy-belching, lazy, dad-joke-humored, forgetful, vocal, ungraceful, clumsy-tripping-over-nothing, imperfect self because, dammit, that is what makes you your beautiful self.