Part 1 of my relocation finds.
Hello to this recurring cycle but it really is so difficult to commit to writing. I started this essay 2 months ago, the intro sitting in drafts but never touched — ‘I can’t believe it’s already a third into the year. Feel like I’ve done more planning to do than actually doing — minus the fact that I am no longer at home when I say this.’
It’s now almost half of the year done and soon I won’t be able to say I’m in my early twenties any more. It’s scary because I don’t feel like that adult I should be at all. On the surface I’m probably portraying great as an adult, stable job with ambition to explore opportunities (hence, relocation), purchasing big adult things (like a car), and sometimes (often) dining at fancy restaurants.
What exactly is an adult though? My colleague told me I speak a lot more maturely than my peers, 14 year old me would be so gleeful hearing this, but the me now just feels like a fraud. Most of me today is the same as me 5 years ago, except I have less motivation and more resentment. Whatever of me that sounds mature is probably an outcome of the society I live in and the environment I grow up in. Otherwise, most of the time my brain is a whiny child who was denied a toy (never had much chances to be that I suppose).
This leads to the topic that has been on my mind since this move — Home. It’s weird because home doesn’t mean anything, I will say I’m going home but this place isn’t my home, it’s just a (very) comfortable bed and shelter (absolutely grateful for). Home is 300 miles away, in a mess because I didn’t have time to pack before I left, though is it really?
I’ve never felt the most comfortable at home, too much expectations and uncertainty. My safe space — the bed, recurring nightmares. I actually hoped I would have better sleep in a different environment, but nothing has changed. I dream just as much if not more, the same nightmares visit and I almost suffocated myself in sleep paralysis a while back. In the end, what they say is true, home is a feeling not a place, and I’ll never really feel at home if I can’t be comfortable with myself.
Being comfortable with myself though, still learning and searching for the right path.
Anyway, walking thirty, there’s a reason for the title and that’s because I pushed myself to do something out of the ordinary, exercise. I think enough people have heard of it, my friends and I going on a coast-to-coast walk during my first weekend on this island (ironically on labour day). I was dumb to do it while out of shape and with a twisted back, but I actually don’t regret it, though wouldn’t do it again. Would have been nice if I finished the journey with them but I was too afraid I would seriously hurt my back even more because I was having difficulties walking and standing straight for 3 whole weeks. I believe the lesson of the experience would be perseverance, and proper preparation (don’t go with bad shoes and always bring plasters).
Anyway, if anybody still wants to know how I’m settling in, I don’t have an answer for you. The two cities are too similar for me to feel a huge difference and I’m spoiled by the privileges that come with living with family. In fact, I’ve been out more than I would because my friends have something up their sleeves every other week (another privilege I suppose). The only difference would be the travel, I miss staying 5 minutes away from the biggest mall in the country. People might find it odd, since I don’t drive around often, but I really do like driving. Even with our old ratty manual car, I was really proud of driving manual too (laughs).
Is this chonky and all over the place? Probably. I’ve been having a headache for the past two days though so the brightness of the room and monitor is not helping my thought process. Signing out for now and I may or may not come back for part 2.
