I am…

I have always had trouble answering who I am. Never quite sure, a grey mass seemingly full of possibilities. But not knowing who I am is not good enough anymore. As part of the work I’ve been doing with a therapist, I was asked to write about who I am.

I have always had trouble answering who I am. Never quite sure, a grey mass seemingly full of possibilities. But not knowing who I am is not good enough anymore. As part of the work I’ve been doing with a therapist, I was asked to write about who I am.

Continue reading “I am…”

Who am I?

I’ve never known how to answer this question, yet it is the one I have been thought about for the longest time. What do I want to pursue in university? What do I want to do for a living? Where do I want to go? What do I want to visit? How do I want to present? How do I want to dress? What do I want to learn about? What is acceptable to me? Continue reading “Who am I?”

Moving

My sister bought a house. It’s a forty year commitment to a house, and at least ten years of struggling to save money. I moved in with her, just like we had planned from the beginning. The new space is nice: there is plenty of more space for us to be, and the house is in much better space than where we lived. It is warm inside, despite how early we are in spring. And, to be quite honest, I like having a window and waking up with the sun.

Adapting to the new space was quick. A matter of expanding the space I occupied – now, I do have the space to just be in my room. I thought that, perhaps, all those years living in the old house would have made me somewhat attached to it, but I am honestly merely glad we have finally left. Staying would have meant sinking a lot of money into something that wouldn’t ever be ours. It wasn’t particularly comfortable either. And, honestly, my room felt more like a space to sleep in and where I’d retreat when needed, than a space where I could express myself. Perhaps better described as I space I was constrained to, than one I lived in.

It still feels quite odd, however. It’s been at least a month now, and I can’t find within me anything resembling an emotional response. And that should be okay — it is okay. It never felt mine, so why should I feel sad about leaving it behind? Still, somewhere in the back of my mind, a whisper says I’m strange for not feeling much. A whisper I hope to one day never hear again.

I Should Do These Things Now, Not Later.

I have a hard time keeping on track when it comes to things I’m not excited about. It’s most evident with things I dislike doing, but the truth is that I’m just terrible at sticking with something and actually putting in the effort at something. Case in point, I’ve not written much ever since I got very excited about motorsports. Nor have I really continued playing music, or working on my game prototype. A part of this is a shift in priorities, definitely. But a lot of it definitely comes from that fault of mine.

It was fine, for the most part, while I was studying because, for the most part, I could just do it all on the top of the hour and deliver something passable. Unhealthy, for sure, but it worked well enough I didn’t have to do anything different than what I had been doing. A missed opportunity, I think, even though I did learn that lists can help, if I happen to actually use them.

The thing is, I just wouldn’t know where to start. I’m terrible at keeping habits, so telling myself to just “check a list of things every morning” doesn’t particularly help. Instead, I do compulsions: I get home and I turn on the PC, as if an instinct. My mind wanders and I open reddit, no two thoughts about it. Web comics I visit? Regularly check during the day if there is a new page, even though I know there won’t be. The list helps, until I stop using the list.

Naturally, my solution is to make the list even more intrusive in my life. I can’t run away from the list if it is on my phone, so I must look at it, yeah? Much like event notifications on my calendar. They don’t let me conveniently forget things, so I’m that much more likely to do them. But, as it happened with post-it notes, I am also very good at looking at it and saying “nah, I’m not going to do that right now” repeatedly, or even “I already did enough today”.

I wish I had better tools. I know they are out there. I need to sit down and research what I can use. In fact, I’m positive a therapist would be a great asset in helping me get this down now so that it doesn’t continue to be a problem and maybe I get to pursue some things I do want to do. For now, however, even if only a band-aid, I’ll try the ever more intrusive lists and hope they are a good interim solution.

This post was brought to life by an item in a to-do list.

adulthood

I used to believe once we reached adulthood, things would change. We’d be afforded the responsibility of taking our own decision and discovering our own path. I thought, naively, we’d live the shadow of those that came before to, perhaps, become ourselves. Instead, I have had to realize adulthood merely means being aware that there is no such thing. There isn’t some magical change once some imaginary line was crossed, and other certainly won’t. We won’t stop liking what we did. We won’t suddenly understand concepts that never made sense before. Nor will idealism just die – it’ll just be tempered, slowly, by experience.

But, perhaps more tragically, those who were supposed to prepare us for it will either dump us before we are ready, or never let go of the power their position as parents afford them.

A few days ago, a friend told me their father had threatened them with physical violence. I was angry. Livid. I wanted to tell them to not accept it. To set strong boundaries and enforce them. To leave, for it isn’t right to hit on your own child. Much less so for an authority figure, such as a policeman, to do so. But the parents are paying for their education, and while they’d be able to find a job quickly, none would allow them to escape the sphere of influence their parents have. I stayed quiet. I listened.

I’d love to think, given we’re long past being considered legal adults now, our parents would treat us as such. But, in their case, as long as they live under their parents roof, they’ll still be treated as they were. Only distance and independence will allow for a shift in perspective. But I fear their fathers behavior, and their mothers – which follows the same vein – isn’t really about seeing a child, but instead merely somebody they can inflict their will over, presented as parenting, empowered by their status as providers.

My disillusion is further compounded by blatant displays of emotional manipulation over another friend as a means of maintaining whatever control they can over them. Calling them a whore for going out with old friends on a vacation. But, above all, is just how little options there are that don’t involve derailing whatever shot at a decent future they might have. It pains me all I can even think of boils down to “keep your head down” in hopes that a job might provide a key to freedom.

Parents aren’t a special kind of adult that magically makes them a good person, just one who legally holds power over their children. And some decide to abuse that. But being an adult is also accepting that sometimes, there isn’t anything else we can do but to endure and provide a shoulder to those who suffer.

Dreams…

A little trip to the land where everything is possible and dreams come true. A little evening with nothing but a friend and and a smile that grew. I come back with memories, the ones that fade with time. But the journey is worth, lighting the fires of hope once more.

Happy 2015’s winter holiday

This was a long year marked with precious moments and a long journey. Things change, slowly. Plans are made from the failures and sucesses we have had so far. Still, it is holiday season. The perfect time to sit down, breathe in, and relax for a little while.

Happy holidays!

Last night, I told to myself: “you are going to pay for doing this to yourself”. It was another late night working on what needs to be done. Slightly unavoidable, considering the deadlines were looming over us. But I don’t think I’ve felt that tired in a while. The days of not-really resting are slowly piling up. Just two more weeks. I tell myself that. It makes it easier to get on with my day, to at least see the end for just one thing.

On the bright side, my mother picked up a stray dog during the weekend. After a bath and a good meal, he seemed happier. And, every time this happens I wish that I had enough money to have my own animal shelter. I know that my mother would be happy treating and taking care of stray animals. Maybe even finding them a good home for them. But, for now, just doing some good for one or two is good enough.

A Talk

Today, I talked with the orientation services of my University. The official reason we talked is because I have been questioning whether I want to continue the course (and considering all that would entail) or try my chances at something else.

My thoughts on the matter aside, the conversation was quite interesting. She tried to probe around, in what I guess was an attempt to figure out why I contacted her. I was quite forthcoming with my thoughts on it and why I have been bothered by the process so far and why I believe that it will not change once I get a job. Truth be told, my experience with the course has been going downhill.

We also talked about the situation at home, which I guess it can be summed by: “I feel like I am speaking to your father” (paraphrasing).

Beyond that, we didn’t touch on other subjects much, perhaps because we ran out of time. And, if I am honest, I do not think that I got much out of it. The rational decisions were reinforced throughout the talk by both of us and there was a rather normal lack of consideration towards how I feel about it. A part of it definitely comes from my lack of direction (I don’t know what my options would be, or what other alternatives I could take). There is a part, however, that comes from the expectation that teenagers need to learn to “suck it up” because that is life, completely ignoring the question of whether I would be happy with that choice.

I am aware that it was only an hour, and for anything to come out of it I would have to invest time. The pessimist in me questions whether the effort will be worth. But, like I told her: part of the reason that I am trying is so I can say that I did. Beyond that? Whatever happens.

An excuse to hang out with friends

I watched the last Hunger Games movie on Saturday, the highlight of the week. If you ask me about the movie, it was okay. But I did not go out for the sake of the movie. It was a good excuse to hang out with friends. Having watched all the other three movies together, it was only right we did so for this one.

So we drove to the mall, the newly acquired licenses (or to be acquired) being the conversation subject throughout most of the trip. How each cars differed from each other, or what the experience of driving was overall. It was new for me to hear people who just learned how to drive talk about it. I don’t, and I only ever heard people who have been driving for a long time talk about it.

We chatted, caught up on our lives when we weren’t watching the movies, had fun and drove back. It was an enjoyable afternoon.

Oh! And I got to try out a small bag I bought a few weeks ago! Lovely thing.