In A Nutshell

I have never really been the type to have a crisis. I may fake it a lot, act dramatic and proclaim "I quit!" but the truth is, I have always known what the next step was even when I didn't know what that step led to. I've also never allowed anything outside of myself to make my decisions for me, for most of them are ones I cannot afford to regret. It was a strict program yes, but it was efficient and reliable because I understood the environment I have inhabited for my entire life: academia.   Today, I don't even recognize the structure of my mind anymore. It has been two months since I graduated and I wish I could say it's been awesome, but honestly, it has been scary and uncertain. I cannot build my life around uncertainty and guesswork. But alas, every single factor of my life, from career to family to relationship, is uncertain at this moment. I am struggling to separate emotions for them accordingly. They bleed into each other inside me. There is no struc...

"you’ve spent years becoming fluent in yourself—and you’re finally admitting that fluency means nothing if no one else ever hears you speak." I've only realized this recently, which is very ironic and belated when I think about it. I have spent years processing my life through writing and I didn't exactly realize that directly. Realizing that now feels belated, like the kind of thing that anyone who knows me would know, except I didn't. I genuinely thought I just loved writing, but what if it's just that it's the way I know best how to meet myself, how to process my own experiences and surface through them.  I've discovered truths I hold inside me before, while writing. I am most honest here. It's not to say I am not honest in real life, but writing poses no risk for me to be honest, so I am. It was also through writing that I've learned my subconscious can hide truths from me, as if there are two people inside (sounds meta, yes), but its real....

Dear Hope, You were a room inside of me that I never dared to walk into willingly. I am surprised every time at how much life has persisted without my attention, on the few occasions I've found myself here. On those occasions, I have had to strong arm my way out, because I know all too well how time passes here. Time doesn't exist in your room. Seconds, minutes, hours, months, and then years and then a decade- I have seen them all pass by without so much as a speck of dust on your glimmering and shimmering. What fueled you? What has fed you and kept you this long? Why? A part of me wants to walk into this room one day and find it dilapidated, in ruins- perhaps then, I won't be so vulnerable here. But a larger part of me knows that this room is the source of all the joys of my life, so while I never walked in willingly, I always knew every now and then that I might find myself right back here.  I do not know how to lock you up. I am not the kind of person who keeps a house f...