I had a blog of the past. And it taught me.

Picture this: a heavy-hearted person needs to speak their mind. Not contained within 120 characters, not contained within pictures, not contained within a community of 1,500 friends.

Body language can convey more, real interactions can show more, but words within a screen is left to the interpretation of the reader;

My circumstances. I know myself, yet I fail to correct myself, and then a cycle happens.

An adult at work, finally able to concentrate her productivity in things that make money rather than running out of savings.

I found myself succumbing to the flaws I hate to be in, but also am glad that I’m aware of it before it goes to shit.

I stay strong and read the mistakes written in my old blog, wondering how old me was able to breathe and carry on, and then, I learned to love myself again.

 

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If one were to write a sad story, one would be deemed as depressed.

If one were to write a victim’s story, one would be deemed as seeking attention.

Could one write not to gain any sympathy but simply a few words of thought — something to reflect and question?

it wasn’t too long ago, I told a friend to come by to visit me in my home country and I would be excited to take him around since it’s much safer to travel with a guy than a girl solo tripping. What was I afraid of? I hadn’t board the LRT on a daily basis — but I found myself worried for scenarios popularized in the media.

Yet on my train ride — packed and barely any room to move — back home from work with a friend, such scenarios did happen and no one was capable of doing anything about it. It was “barely anything” — a foreign male touching the bottoms of girls and trying to lift up skirts. All my friend could say was “you’re not the only victim” and continued to watch. Nobody stopped him — I couldn’t bring myself to face him– some didn’t even realize he was even doing something to them. Calling him out may provoke him and there was a fear of catching further attention on something that was rather inconspicuous.

It’s so easy to brush it off so long you think it’s “barely anything, people have gone through worse” thoughts. Why was it hard to say “stop doing that?” to his face? Every part of me wanted nothing to do with it but yet I was present with this scenario and force to deal with it.

 

It’s easier to do nothing when things happen and try to just get away as much as you can — but is it the right decision?

Still alive!

It’s harder to procrastinate when your work environment doesn’t allow you to access websites with any login (other than company websites) so I haven’t been writing.

I’ve moved on to another chapter at work; another place to fit in; another challenge to conquer. Some parts feel like deja vu, some are new, but most of it feels constant.

It’s like I moved up a level in my career in Madison and moved down again in Malaysia. My career feels stagnant, like going through a game and never moving past level 1. Just when I think I can move on to level 2, an obstacle will pop up – telling me that I’m not cut out for level 2 just yet.

Even after close to two years past graduation,  it still feels like square one.

A few days before my job begins, I’ve been wondering whether being back here is good.

I still struggle with my purpose. I question my path. I wonder if this is what God has installed for me.

I grieved over certain memories; ones that are not worth hanging on to. Every day I tell myself it’s going to be different, but the words spilled are of hatred and not of consideration.

I hate to say “America is better”. Because it shouldn’t be.

Lawless.

Gone were the methods I learned that I should stop a few inches away from the white painted line before the Stop sign.

“Malaysians don’t stop at Stop signs unless it’s a traffic light”

The stop signs here are placed at U-turns, and there isn’t a need to stop if you have the right of way on a straight road.

Someone’s lights were not on. I was tempted to alert them about it.

“Why are you looking back every time you change lanes; there’s a reason why you have side mirrors”

I rejoice at the difficulties of parking using a reverse camera.


Cranking up my seat, I already had regrets.

When I decided to buy a new car, there were very few things I needed in a car; a Bluetooth for wireless Spotify playlists, a decent horsepower, keyless system.

I was used to the Toyota Prius I had in the States, so I was more geared towards the techie side of a car rather than the potentiality of its engine.

When I drove it out for the first time, I noticed the absence of a middle compartment — a common location where I shoved all my personal things; hidden and at elbow’s reach.

What replaced it was 2 USB ports; no aux cord; and a HAND BRAKE. Maybe it’s a first world thing — I was accustomed to the third foot pedal, whether in my Prius or in my parents’ cars.

The seats used labor-intensive methods to move it about instead of the clickable version.

By now; I sound REALLY SPOILT. But you never realized what’s good till it’s gone — oh how I miss my Prius.

Don’t tell my new car about it.

and it’s 11/1.

Maybe it’s because I’m no longer seeing a pile of snow outside the window that I felt that the year had not passed.

And yet I feel sort of relieved entering into the New Year. I’m starting to move out of “hibernation”, moving to another potential new chapter in life and wondering what’s more to come.

Was 2016 a difficult year for me? I guess it was a difficult year for everyone. You can see last year’s posts have been dreadful in different levels.

I wouldn’t say it was difficult; but it was tough in the sense that I had to persevere. Couldn’t quit on life even if I wanted to.

December has also been a strange month for me; this is where I usually had a romantic interest/fling/breakup towards Christmas time but none of that happened last year — not sure if it’s a sign of adulthood but am actually okay with it; so I guess I’m no longer that hopeless romantic anymore?

My good friends are getting married — and I’m happy for them. I felt like I’ve reached a point where I’m not pressured to be married – not pressured to find someone and stick to evaluating myself each day.

I’m sure I may have said the same things last year — but I can sense a better year for me this year — after all it’s the year of the Rooster — I’ve reached the second cycle of the zodiac calendar.

young, wild and free.

“23 was the best year of my life,” my friend would quip.

A while ago, I wrote a post about being 23, a conflict of emotions leading up to the impending season finale of my American dream.

The questions haven’t stopped.
The curiousity tension.
The answers to what’s next.

But I’m surprisingly contented, maybe because I’m no longer seeing myself moving every year. There is still some culture shock though: my dialects are barely passable and I still drive on the wrong side of the road (God, help me.)

I would love to be committed to something. A career. A partner. A location. But I know I’m young, years ahead for me to explore, too soon for me to settle. My path will change the moment I find comfort, and I should learn to acknowledge those circumstances.

I have yet to meet up with old peers, and find my fun routine in this place. So far, there is that occasional gym place my friend and I would be, that shopping mall hangout, at rare times, dinner outings, and at even rarer times, after-dinner outings.

My supervisor has been the nicest mentor I could ever ask for. My nick name has replaced my actual name. I get free lunches and Starbucks coffee sometimes, which is essential for the financially-challenged. But I learned the most from the wisdom he imparts.

Maybe I can’t be wild and free the same way I was in the States. Life is different with a curfew at 10. I miss my night drives and runs. I miss that spontaneous solo drive to Chicago and feeling grateful that my phone didn’t explode from the over usage of GPS.

With Thanksgiving coming up in the States, there should be a lot more that I wish I could experience again.

For the first time in a while, the unknown excites me.

I will wait.