Someday, one day, in Canada | Broadcast #(2)
- Tony
- Jan 1, 2020
- 9 min read
Updated: Jun 7, 2021
"Time waits for no one, Tony. Live your best life."
I miss the times when I feel like I can write anything I want.
I love writing. I love art. But what the actual frick did it give back to me?
Yeah, I thought so.
Here is an opening thought I wrote a few weeks back, after I finally realised that I had enough of this wallowing in self-pity.
No one ever told me that self-discovery required a lot of patience. That you don't just find out who you are and what you want in life at the end of an overseas trip. That it involves daydreaming of the things still yet to happen at 3 am because you're wide awake instead of fast asleep. That it involves drinking cold chocolate milk at daybreak after a night of drinking alcohol and laughing about the simplest things with friends you still want to keep at a distance because, good God, it hurts to part ways with them. That it involves you trying to reconcile the important parts of your life that can't get along at all. That it involves you questioning all of your life choices and thinking where the heck did you go wrong all of a sudden. That it involves treasuring everything good that's ever happened out of fear that they may never happen again. That it meant a lot of running away, a lot of hiding, a lot of apologies because of the times you can't bear to carry the weight of the world that rested in your heart and on your shoulders. That it involves you giving up certain things in your life to make way for something that may lead you somewhere better.
No ever told me that self-discovery meant walking through brightly-lit marble halls with a smile on your face just so people would think you're all right. That it meant swimming in cold water without knowing if your feet would touch anything underneath.
No one ever said self-discovery meant looking back at your younger self and thinking, oh, I used to be so much happier, but it also meant looking forward to better days ahead. No one ever said that you would question your entire existence in the process of determining what exactly God and the world want from you.
No one ever told me that self-discovery would mean both loathing yourself for every mistake you ever made and loving yourself for the most trivial things at once. That it meant separating the sin from the sinner. No one ever told me that there wouldn't be an easy way to find what you really want out of the life you're living.
It's messy. This whole self-discovery thing. However, hearing of other people's own victories after their journeys of self-discovery makes me think... Oh, God, it was never gonna be easy, was it? I've no idea how long this dark night is gonna take, but if it means seeing sunlight when the morning comes, if it means seeing clarity at daybreak, if it means finally agreeing that there really are things in my life that are beyond my control, if it means finally coming to terms with my own self, if it means finally being "okay" without lying and bluffing, then let me carry on with this journey. Hold me close, not too close. Give me patience, God, let me find myself. (8 December 2019)
All of my life, I've only ever lit up three cigarettes. The first one I did back in 2011, when I was on the brink of failing my drawing class because my professor told me I didn't have the talent. He didn't say that directly, but that was pretty much the point he was trying to make. I lit it up, but I couldn't bring it to my lips, so I stubbed it out and went back to class.
The second one was back in May, when I insisted on staying home during a family vacation because there were things I needed to do for church. I stole one from a pack left by someone important, but when I pressed the damn thing onto my lips, I couldn't bring myself to breathe in. I threw it out and cussed, thinking what the hell am I doing?
The third one wasn't even mine, and when I breathed in, I couldn't help but think of why my mother and my ex loved these damn death lollipops and the bitter smoke that came with it.
I know, my life has been one whole 'What the hell?' kind of moment ever since I turned 25. It's like jumping into a well and freefalling for hours without knowing when I'll hit the water, or if I'll even hit any water at all.
There are times when I don't want to be left alone with my thoughts because a lot of seriously annoying and painful things resurface, even though I thought I was over them all. During the times I dined alone, I realized that a person's mind is a dangerous minefield when left unattended. That's why people tend to overthink, because they don't 'control their thoughts'. While some may say that a wandering mind is a good thing, what about those with only self-destructive thoughts in their head? What about those who tried their best to rein the thoughts that filled their head and yet failed miserably, only to have the breathings of their mind scattered across the entire place?
I called myself a daydreamer for most of my life. I thought it was a good thing because it meant my head was always awake and thinking. However, as the years passed, daydreaming turned to overthinking, and overthinking quickly turned into existential crisis. Why am I in a hurry to make stupid daydreams come true rather than making reality work for me instead? Am I really fine dreaming out dreams rather than making them happen?
I've started writing fanfiction again.
I forgot how it was such a good creative exercise for me and how I loved doing it when I was in high school. It was fun getting into so many fandoms and immersing myself into the universe of whatever I was writing for. Gosh, I loved every moment of it-- and the thrill of reading story reviews-- that was an altogether different feeling. I can't believe that the same activity still evokes the same kind of feeling my fourteen-year-old self particularly loved. I got a kick out of it so much that I wrote in every class and throughout my simmer vacations I had. The feeling remains true until today, when I'm writing furiously during my commutes while stuck in traffic.
If there's anything I realised throughout my one year and three months of working, it's that I am actually a very privileged kid. Unlike my co-workers, I didn't have that struggle of budgeting my salary into things such as rent, electricity, water and the likes -- because I still lived with my family. And while I did have something to contribute, it was actually rather little to contribute to a household that was already run pretty well by my parents and Manay. But even though I had most of my salary to myself, that didn't mean I would squander it and spend it on needless things. In fact, I quite like budgeting almost everything.
I was blessed with a family that took care of my every need -- and parents who didn't consider me a retirement plan. My dad often spoke of how it was never easy to get to where he was today. I know I have much of my mother's compassion in me, but I wish I had both of their grit.
Somehow I feel like my privileged background is what's holding me back from achieving things I want. I don't feel like I'm brave enough to take any risks because I feel like there's so much at stake -- unlike those who have lived without much their entire lives -- they're the real risk takers.
There are times when I wished my parents told me what they wanted me to be. I probably would've been happier, and things wouldn't be this complicated in my head. There's so much frustration bubbling up inside me, and I can't help but think that sometimes I could've done better, I could've brought home a title for them (you know, like Engineer, Attorney, RN, PhD or something, but I know well enough that I'm not that smart). I want to find the right direction in my life without spontaneously self-combusting. I want to take up nursing again, just like what the ten-year-old me originally planned, but look at the time.
At work, I've been exposed to the most shameless and candid kind of truths about love and sex. Don't get me wrong, though-- I would never judge those people who decide to have sex before marriage-- because it's their call and their decision. I've had my fair share of curiosities, but I didn't go so far as to let myself go completely. There were days when I listened to the details of my friends' stories with rapt interest and curiosity, only to think of the possible consequences of their own actions.
There is always something holding me back from completely letting myself go, and that is self-love.
There are times when I feel like I'm being shamed and judged for remaining a virgin to this very day. I was criticised for my lack of action and it bothered me a bit. Those who had the experience I lacked often told me that it was 'the best thing in the world' and that 'once I had a try, I could never give it up again'. Yeah, okay, I get your point. Sex is good. But for the sake of self-preservation, I decided to turn away from all that unhealthy talk. If you find yourself talking to me about sex and I suddenly don't reply, take that as a sign that I don't want to hear anything about what you do with your significant other.
In this world that boasts of sex and one-night-stands, I realised that there is nothing wrong with being a virgin and loving purely. Sex is not a race and not a prize, and it's definitely not a game of who gets the most. People need to stop feeling sorry for me just because I'm not having sex like they are. It's as simple as that. I don't think it's a loss for our relationship, and you can call me old-fashioned or traditional all you want, but I don't think there's anything wrong with the way I see things.
I am blessed to be loved by someone with a pure heart, and he loves me beyond the physicality of our relationship. I am blessed to be loved by someone who draws me closer to God more than anything or anyone else. I am blessed that he prays for me every single day.
Yeah, sex is good, but do you have someone praying for you and your well-being every single day? Why not give it a try lol.
"I know what I have to do but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it." – Kylo Ren to Han Solo, The Rise of Skywalker
“Before you can kill the monster you have to say its name.” - Terry Pratchett
It was never a crisis of faith for me. My faith is here, and I believe that God is in my life at all times, watching and guiding me, as He always does. The crisis was more about myself and my inability to reconcile my life outside of church with my own spiritual life.
The 'me' at work, outside the walls of the church, and the church girl 'me' that everyone sees every Sunday have become two different people, and it terrifies me to think that they can't get along at all.
...The 'me' who has tried every hedonistic thing that life has to offer -- the booze, sex talk and the que sera sera way of thinking -- and the 'me' who wants nothing more but to come home to her Father... they can't agree on anything anymore and I'm so annoyed.
People's inner demons have a special way of showing up whenever we least expect them, but mine have confronted me every single day for the past two years in the form of dishonest and hurtful words and awful, awful thoughts. Sometimes, they would come in the form of the people I love and it disturbs me to think that my own torment comes from loving certain people too much.
At the end of the day, looking back at the things that happened to me, I am still pretty much a scared little girl who wants to come home, but how can I come home when the place that was once my fortress became a battlefield before my own eyes? I'm not sure if it was the devils or the wars that drove me away, but I just want to go home.
How I feel about how my life and my faith pretty much summarised in that one single line from the last Star Wars movie, and oh God, did it hurt. I always knew Star Wars alluded to a lot of Christian life aspects and Kylo Ren's re-birth as Ben Solo spoke volumes to me. (I am very sorry for those who still haven't watched the last Star Wars movie yet because I'm sure y'all didn't expect wild spoilers to show up!)
It's true. I know well enough what I have to do, but I'm not sure if I actually have the strength to do it, to do the right thing. I am compelled to come home, but I don't feel like I can do so just yet because there's still something holding me back, and you can bet your devil that it's my devil.
I will need all the strength I can get to run past the smoke clouding my way back home, but believe me when I say that I'm on my way.
Love Forever,
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