Its been a month since Janda Baik where the training wheels got taken off. The cult sessions, as the family calls it, are over. I am glad to get my Mondays back but its so easy to fall into despair again when nobody is chastising me to woman up. Because it's so EASY.
Curling up into a foetal position and telling the world to fuck off is so beautiful. And it is ironic that it's not passion that gets me up in the morning but fear at being yelled at at the office. This love hate relationship with my career is getting stale. A peer who has just turned GM in another company is telling me that the world is huge. Him and just about every person I have spoken to. Leaving the country now for blue skies literally is somehow not terribly appealing because truth be told, I have not severed the chains to my universe of fears that I have so carefully curated.
Anyway the cigarettes have stopped too because honestly, inhaling smoke, in the haze, then looking for a facemask and ingesting bird's nest for "strong lungs"... is the epitome of stupidity.
Despite the occasional loneliness, I am relishing being in my own space. All 800 sq ft of me. From the walnut table to my Megat Sri Rama, to my Egyptian cotton sheets to the dead plants that were supposedly representative of my relationship with myself. Digressing a little from describing my interior design prowess, I have so far managed to kill every plant I have. Let's hope the moss in my terrarium survives my touch of death. I mean, its moss. If I do manage to kill that, then all hope is lost.
Anyway, within this space is my queendom (a reference appropriated from a TED talk and not in reference to anything LGBT, I promise). Within this microcosm, is the most honest life I have lived. This craving to be accepted has forced me in many ways and for so many times to compromise the essense of my true self. Like its always offered up for negotiations. Being just myself, just myself, never seems good enough. And right at the cusp of feeling sorry for myself, the devil's advocate ponders out loud, whether is the learned friend wallowing in entitlement?
It is seriously screwed up to want to give up, yet intellectually cognizant to realise that it's foolish, articulate enough to spew vitriol, too chicken shit to do anything and yet too much of a masochist to stop cutting myself up.