Where am I? I am somewhere in between. It's been a long while since I last wrote something personal, I've been training my hands to get into writing because I have this feeling that I'll be doing that in the next coming years. I've tried so hard not to write something personal, it's a good thing I have a really great support system called "tangible friends" that I can run to. Literally.
Lately I am in a personal discourse. While I enjoy the company of my good friends, I have not forgotten the therapeutic feel of writing. My Kuya says I am an online junkie and I kind of have been paying the price of putting some stuff in the world wide web. I got stalked,some of my amateur photos got stolen (not once!), I've been plagiarized by some sore loser who probably got the biggest fuckin' surprise and I've been googled when I am not even
that interesting to begin with.
Last year, I had one of what they call quarter-life crisis. I've lived away from my folks since I was sixteen and by twenty five, I pretty much have done what I have always wanted to do. I started on my job two weeks after my college graduation, got promoted twice, explored several departments in the corporate world, met really good friends, made stupid mistakes, have been cautiously in love, partied on weekends, indulged in retail therapy, got my own 1BR apartment to live alone when I was twenty four. By the time I was twenty five, I was throwing an intimate housewarming party with the closest of my friends at work during thanksgiving.
Then what's next? I have not been taking the big jump about love. Well, I almost did but I already knew what I will be getting myself into so I chickened out. Then I got the thing they called quarter-life crisis, fucked my so-called job that I've been secretly dreading with then got quite depressed. I did the unthinkable (for me): I retreated.
It wasn't the easiest experience. I had to submit myself back to my folks and obey their rules when I've been calling the shots for the last recent decade of my life. I've had to trace back familiar steps, get re-acquainted with people that I've known since I was a child. Not that I am complaining. While some I know who experience the same thing, they either marry the next thing that moves, played couch potato for a number of years, in my case I got myself, literally, an education.
And now, I only got few units left next semester and I feel like I have to decide which way I want to go. I know I am not the type who will resort to hubby hunting and on the biological clock watch, because If I wanted to have a family and a baby by the time I am twenty five, I would have done it already. And if the serious conversations with beau regarding marriage equates to getting engaged, then I would have been engaged twice.
I've always been secretly jealous and looked up to those people who are self-made and doing what makes them happy by pursuing and going after their passion. I sort of envy that smile that I see on their faces, wiping sweat off their forehead, cleaning up a job done and beaming with pride. I want to experience their inner glow in doing what they love. For the first time, I really want to do something that I love to do, not something that I just happen to be effortlessly good at.
This laid back environment is growing on me. While I sometimes secretly miss the feeling of having my own space, I still recall how lonely it's been. That's why I am excited that I will be living with friends in a three-bedroom townhouse in the city, just like what I've always wanted my next move to be. We'll be like three roommates in those American TV series we see on TV but the question is, for how long? I have not figured out what my next move is yet.
Why is that when I finally feel like I have everything almost figured out for my next move, something beyond my control comes up?
