I wrote this post last night when I was feeling a bit meh.
Okay, 7 months into living abroad and a little drained, let’s see what my thoughts are.
That’s my disclaimer btw, this post will be major mind farts of my experience (so far).
First off, I’m not a fan of money. Maybe it’s the romantic in me. I do recognize the fact that money makes the world go round though, and that’s sad but recognizing that, I suppose, makes you know where you want to go. Direction. Sure, there’s that part of me that says, go ride the wave and hakuna matata no worries kinda thing but then again, I’m not a warthog with a meerkat for a bestfriend. I don’t want to ride the wave and end up flailing because of the riptide. I’m a mapper kinda person. Does that make me anal? Maybe. Should I unlearn that trait? I don’t think so.
It is fun to live off your comfort zone. You get to know that you can live anywhere. Little things like communicating what you want/need in a language that’s foreign to you, from doing the laundry, opening a bank account and even requesting a mosquito coil in a mozzie-ridden bar – everything seems like an accomplishment.
Then again it gets a bit frustrating just at that point when you think you’ve pinned it all down, you realise you haven’t. For some time, you come to terms with the fact that you are trying to live with the expectations of what the locals think about you. It is unconscious until that point and when that point comes, it is humbling. You know you are not strong enough to keep yourself.
Then also at at point you make a decision to go back to you yourself, about how you know life was. Then comes the struggle to balance the comfort zone life and the Twilight Zone life. Where are you?
Oh well I guess I just miss home. Wait what is home?
That feeling of familiarity and belonging is home. When the day job drains you, even home feels strange. Here’s that point when you think: When will this stop? It robs you of you. And because of that you can’t give yourself to anyone. You become a robot. And you think you’re only doing it for existing. Sorry, people around me.
Now at times like these, I count the reasons why I’m lucky:
I am for living. I love hanging out with my boyfriend, who I admire because I get to appreciate life on a different level. He understands me unlike no one. He tells me I am so giving but it’s really him who gives a lot, lot more and I get to be spoiled of his love. He has a solid approach to life which I hope I imbibe the more we get to spend time with each other. He makes me grow by letting ourselves discover life together, may it be in diets, exercise, travel, etc. And he’s super guapo. (I know, I’m such a lucky biatch).
I have my family, thankfully they’re not very controlling and they help me a lot with direction. Like my boyfriend, they provide guidance and wisdom and I learn about it through them. They have lived life after all. And although they are still quite protective, they let me make mistakes because they know that’s the key to growth.
I have my old friends. Old friends remember you when you were young and full of beans. That’s who you want to be now that you’re older and cynical. I get that with children, that zest for life. I get to have that feeling again with old friends. They will still accept me even if I was acting like a 14 year old, because they will be accepted too.
I’m lucky to have myself. I know I am unique. Not the best person but trying. I have moments of failure, I recognise that, sorry for letting you down, but hey that’s life. In the end I just want to be a good person independent of everyone’s BS. I think you do too. It will take time to get there, there will be lots of growth, but I think I am on the right path.