Should I stay or should I go now?

Recent conversations and events made me remember this little blog I attempted back in (ancient) times - at least it certainly feels like forever ago.

Since the last entry I've undertaken and graduated with my masters degree in Australia, moved across oceans, continents and countries a couple of times, experienced trauma, love, heartbreak, and hit the big 3-0. In many ways an entirely different person from eight years ago. In others, the very same. Somehow, this makes me feel both elated and depressed. Desired change is, apparently, incremental and thus, frustrating.

I guess that's what being alive is about.

Feels odd to be writing again, but more natural than sharing thoughts and feelings in other channels. As journaling is a somewhat limited success for me, maybe I'll give this another go? It's been too long since I wrote anything that wasn't relayable on a large post-it, other than journal entries, and that saddens me slightly. I miss the requirement of coherency attached to academic writing, the beautiful structure a well-reasoned argument is presented in when written, and not merely orally executed in a discussion with others.

It will certainly be irregular, rambling and a weird mix of opinions, fact, trivia and thoughts, but that's what being me entails. In any case, it can't be worse than what's already out there, so I won't be feeling too much pressure in terms of keeping it all completely synced.

Odd how foreign this feels. Writing in English was second nature for so long, while now it merely it's merely sprinkled on top. Like the light dusting of white from frost outside, where there should be a heavy coating of beautiful, white snow. It is, after all, winter, and the temperature reads well below 0 degrees Celsius. Makes me want to hibernate under the covers and read.

Annoyingly enough, that is not what happens. Instead, I hibernate and watch Netflix. Haven't finished a book in what must be six months, at least. I miss it. Even feel a little lost without it as it used to be such a big part of my life. My identity even. The book worm. The library lender. The lover of all words written.

Now, I struggle to focus and read tons and tons of news pieces on topics that I no longer have any connection to. While missing the past. Sometimes I fear I won't be able to get back to my 'true' self. Is there even such a thing? Sounds pompous, and maybe it is.

It concerns me - what if I'm no longer that person? What if a book no longer can afford me solace and thrill me to the core? What if my concentration is shot, gone forever? I don't ever want to be reduced to this quivering lump of nerves attempting to be on top of topics because others are somehow connected to them. I want to run my own life and interests. Be me. Be free (of him).

And there it is. The crux of it all.

Despite swearing, promising, obliging myself to NEVER changing because of a man, I fear I did. That's the worst part of it all. Fear. Unsure. Not knowing. Missing. Feeling small and pointless. Using time and energy meant to be dedicated in proper pursuits, on what I am scared amounts to wallowing.

All the while still missing the past. Hurting from it. From the ending. From the lack of contact. From the doubt associated with it all. From trusting and hoping and daring to believe, that maybe, just maybe, I'd be happy. That I, too, deserved it, before it was yanked away. From seeing them prosper and move forward, whirlwind-style. Her and him - them. Leaving me by the side of the road.

Not senseless, but with a sense of self without a centre. Not because he was it - never that. But because I got yanked out of that small sense of surety. Of feeling like things were clicking into place. That I'd found a 'home', so to speak.

It makes me frustrated with myself. All the time and energy spent internalising that no man is worth changing your hopes and dreams over. All the occasions used to remind myself of this very notion. Not to mention all the worrying that this shift in desires alongside the growth of love, was unnatural, and not normal. Worrying that I was choosing to change, instead of developing organically. For him.

I still want my time-machine. Closure. To know why it's so hard.

Did I? Was it warranted? I still can't answer these questions now, any more than when they mixed in with happiness. And now, now I merely want to be feel closer to myself. Be happy with myself. Just not without him. Makes me feel pathetic. Which ironically means "full of emotions". So many emotions. If they existed in physical, liquid form, I'd probably drown in them. I'd very much like to handle them better. But most of all, I want to know why. And how to communicate them better.

This concludes today's session.