January, what’s good?

I realised that since about two or so months ago, I have been incredibly salty about a lot of things. It has taken me to a lot of dark places. No. Not places without electricity, but a figuratively dark places. I’ve been questioning about what’s the whole purpose of me being in this world? And no, I wasn’t asking the question to be philosophical. It was the kind of thing you would ask when you’ve had enough of life in general.

The #RetrospectSeries started as something about reflecting on what the past month was like for me. Were there things that I overlooked that would have meant something bigger for the days to come? Were there anything that I have took for granted? But, the last couple of months, it has come to my attention that I no longer reflect on the past month, I was merely complaining, whining, and ranting about how shitty my life was.

And honestly? I’m not even going to deny it. Maybe it’s the whole moving away thing, maybe it’s the whole new job thing, maybe it’s the whole long distance marriage thing, or maybe I have just had about enough with life. Take your pick.

Whatever the reason may be, I honestly am having enough five months worth of shit thrown at me, and I’m not happy. And I’m allowed to be unhappy. I don’t give two fucks if it’s going to make me sound like an ungrateful shit, because maybe I am. See if I care what people think of me.

That being said, I realise it wouldn’t be wise to pretend that the #RetrospectSeries will be the space where I reflect. I have to say, I quite enjoy writing an update of my life for once a month (if an occasional shitty event didn’t call for its own specific post), but since I think I am going to be incredibly salty for the next years to come, I have decided that there will no longer be #RetrospectSeries. I’ll keep the category name as it is because I’m too lazy to change it, but starting this month, all of my so called #RetrospectSeries will no longer be titled <insert month’s name>: in retrospect, but will be <insert month’s name>, what’s good? inspired by Nicki Minaj’s call out to Miley Cyrus at the 2015’s VMA.

Cut me some slack, I love me some good pop culture memes.

I feel like calling out the months like what Nicki did to Miley is so fulfilling! Like, I’ve had it with your bullshit, and now I’m calling you out.

Okay, now that is out of the way, let’s see what January did to me.

January, what’s good?

Nothing, mate. Nothing is good.

The year started off not entirely bad, more like surreal. And seeing that sometimes I tend to be superstitious in my weird way, I feel like the first day of the new year tells a lot about your coming year. And so I had it embedded in my mind that 2018 was going to be a surreal year indeed. And not the kind of trippy surreal bizarre thing like when you think of the 70s and people were just smoking weed and driving around in a VW Kombi.

I know whatever events that happened in the past 31 days cannot count for a whole year (just like how one starts its first day of the year can’t count for what the next 364 days will be like, but whatever).

January has been tough. It seems like there’s always another battle to fight, another hill to climb, another useless moron to deal with, and another crappy day to live through.

Was working for money has always been this hard? Don’t answer that. That was a rhetorical question.

What sins have I commit that I am where I am today? Don’t answer that also. That was a question born out of frustration.

Either way, the two questions have been occupying my head more than I am willing to count for the whole January. It was one shitstorm after another. Just when you think things are looking up, BAM, think again, a fucking pigeon just shit in your open mouth as you yawn and/or screaming in agony over how life is just so shitty.

No, that was not based on actual event, but it made a great hyperbole situation, right?

Either way, January has bought a huge cold hard truth and a slap in the face for yours truly.

I thought that moving away would be good, and although I know living abroad is hard, I thought at the time, how bad could it be? As long as there are french fries and fried chicken, I can still take on the world. But, I was wrong. Oh boy, was I very, very, very wrong.

Living abroad is hard, y’all. A lot of people see the glamour of living abroad, because that’s what other people wants you to see, that it’s all lollipops and rainbows, but damn it, it is so not like that. There’s the language barrier, there’s the adapting to the food and the lifestyle, and then there’s the missing home part that you can never get away with, no matter how convincing your arguments are that you are a strong independent woman. Pfft.

And I know I’ve said it a million times before, but honestly, I just hate my job so much. There’s nothing fulfilling about the job that I do. Everything feels vain. I don’t feel a sense that I’m making a dent in this world. And I know I wasn’t going to leave an impressionable impact on this life, but being 18,000 or so km away from home made it more apparent. It made it more real, that I’m just living my days adding more carbon footprints until the day I die. How do you feel a sense of fulfillment from that kind of thought?

Hey, if you love your job and you’re convince that you are actually doing something good and something that is worth your time and energy, good for you. Really. But, I don’t.

But, like all general rule of adulting 101, whether one likes something or not, one has to march on because one has to pay the bills. And so, I tread my days with a sense of must-go-to-work-lest-one-cannot-pay-one’s-bill. Even if it means you have to have your shit together like nothing is bothering you, laugh at jokes you don’t even think is funny because you don’t want people to wonder if everything is alright with you, act like you’re listening to what the other person is saying even though it’s all just white noise at that point, and just feeling that as each day passes so does your will to live a meaningful life.

And I know it’s not healthy, but I’ve tried. I really did. Okay, I never really did try to like my job, but we all know it’s a given thing, I was never going to like my job, not even if my life depended on it. It’s called a job for one thing, it’s a not a hobby.

I tried going on a therapy. I joined an online therapy session. But it only helps so much because even I don’t know where to start unraveling my tangled mess.

I tried doing sports, albeit only home exercises, but I can only hold it for awhile until I realise that trying to function like a normal human being whilst at work is so exhausting that I couldn’t force my lazy ass to do a 9 minutes exercises. I just want to curl up and sleep.

I tried meditation, and it did help. It was one of the best solution that I actually did try. But after 10 days, it gets repetitive and boring and every time I close my eyes trying to just concentrate on my breathing, all I can think about is how tomorrow is going to be another exhausting mental exercise for me, and next thing I knew I am feeling more anxious than before I start my meditation session.

But this was not the first time I am where I am right now. I’ve been here before; when I was in Primary School, when I had my first major break up, when I had my first job, when I had my first fuck up moment at work, and lots more, so I wasn’t all perturbed by it. I knew the storm will pass eventually and that I’ll feel better soon. Or so I was telling myself.

By the time I realised this life that I am living right now was getting out of control, I was already in too deep in stress. I didn’t have my period on time. I wasn’t eating healthy, and I genuinely didn’t care. I didn’t really find any joy in the food that I ate, although I kept on sprouting shit like, “oh man this food is good,” whilst in public. I shut down even when I am alone in my house. And worst of all, sometimes I completely forgot that I haven’t talked to RAM for quite awhile.

I was relishing being alone, not having to have my shit together, that I didn’t realise I had stop living and trying to enjoy my life completely. And what worries me the most is that I’m afraid if left like this for too long, I’ll lose sight of who I am, and that I’ll never be able to get out of this funk, even as I am back in my own safe cocoon.

Gosh, what a dark post, eh?



Photo of office desk with laptop by Freepik







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