#letter challenge

The other day, a Twitter mutual tweeted on whether if we’d ever think back of the past, of old best buddies and connections, and how are they at the moment. I didn’t ponder too much, because to me, I am still keeping in touch with the people that mattered from the past...

... But today, I remember you three, and I pondered about your lives; I remember seeing one of you, but you changed so much. The other, we tried keeping in touch, but you disappeared from social media. The last went MIA after primary school ‘til today...

In the past, we were quirky and talked of fantasies and magic. We were kids of different groups, but bond under the love for novels. Today, I wondered if you guys still keep that magic in your hearts. Or have you grew up, thriving under societal expectations and demands? Perhaps you have married, started a family, and are focused on nurturing the next generation? 

Sometimes, there is that odd feeling of being stuck in time. Where everyone is progressing towards life, and I am not. In fact, it felt like I’m walking backwards instead. Perhaps that is why I dislike gatherings and reconnecting with others; other than not liking big groups and noises, I dislike seeing changes and feeling that I have never changed much. I dislike reminiscing the past with people who were not close to me to begin with, or rather, so-called best high school memories that people tend to cherish were nothing much to me.

However, if there’s one thing I missed, it’s the courage to be creative... because writing feels so hard these days. It had been a difficult puzzle to solve: is it the busyness of life? Have I lost interest and “grew up”? Is it just procrastination? Or unnecessary pressure I’d exerted on myself? Putting words down here felt like fighting over a choked grip around my neck, and when the words are out, it just felt wrong, like it shouldn’t exist (but it should, it’s okay, everything’s okay, just take baby steps, says the rational part of the brain).

Perhaps that’s why I thought of you guys. Because I remember those crappy stories that I’d written during my childhood-- a story that is ripped out of a game and thrown into a mixed pot of fav novel ideas/concepts, riddled with grammatical errors-- and I remembered showing to you guys, unabashedly. And now I wonder, where have my courage went? Since when did I became like this? Why is it so hard to speak up now, without worrying of burdening anyone, without feeling guilty or ashamed of sharing? Rationality dictates that there’s no need for sharing, that my problems have solutions (and lies mainly in me), and it’s minuscule compare to others; emotionally, though, I felt constipated. And perhaps my body and subconscious knows, because it sought out others even before I could register what’s happening. I felt both rejuvenated and empty, because while I felt better with company and connecting with others, I wasn’t able to articulate what’s bugging me. 

Is this why my fingers brought me back to this place? To this letter writing? Because I seemed to turn to this when I’m hitting rock bottom?

It’s so easy to offer comfort and consoling others sometimes, because I can feel and empathize their pain. Or perhaps I’m just offering comfort, because that’s what I wanted? And through helping others would be how I found my own salvation? Or perhaps I admire their courage to vocalize their pain, knowing that I’d never be that way, and that’s why I wanna help them. For vocalizing pain is like screaming for help, and I want to grab those hands and tell them that they’re not alone in their pain, that I’m here.

Do you guys have people you’d share your pain with? I hope so. I know one of you do, but for the two who disappeared from social medias, how’s life? How do you cope with sadness? Are you living the life you desire? Are you happy? (Are you still alive?)

Life will always be a work in progress. I know I’m a work in progress, but it’s terribly hard sometimes especially when one feels alone (except one is never “alone”, “alone” is a choice, one can always reach out, you can always reach out, you have reached out, says rationality). To have put these words here, maybe that’s the start of flipping those bad tables into something good. 

You can feel it, can’t you, the traces of decay? Starting with a slow withdrawal from the things you’re fond of, towards sudden unexplainable melancholic emotions. Running away from all thoughts, escaping into the fantastic world of games. When harsh (unintentional) words kept playing in your mind like a broken record, when all you could see is a dark future that lies await you due to your incapability, when... sometimes... it crosses a dark territory that it has never crossed before, and somehow you’re just okay with it (it’s not, please don’t).

And yet, regardless of how murky, how helpless you felt, nobody could see through you. The ones who can are too far, those who are near never really knew you. You get nagged for not being able to smile like you used to do so, get reprimanded when you’re a little slower to do things when you’re really, really trying your best (because if you had a choice at all, you’d probably want to hide yourself in the room under the cover and just game/read/write away). You don’t care so much for your wellbeing, you close your ears to every so-called “senior recommendations”, you isolated yourself (again), and grew to despise the world (again).

You tried to bury your emotions as usual, but however flawless you could hide it in front of your family and friends, it could not escape the one things that you always do, that requires your every single focus-- work.

You screwed up a lot at work.

You, a perfectionist, hated the feeling of making mistakes. If this were a game, you would be restarting a new one just so you could get that perfect or acceptable run. You felt that life, living as you are currently, is unacceptable. You hated work because it’s not what you want, but you hated life because you believed that you would never be able, never be strong enough to get what you want, that you have to live your life for someone else because you are taught to do so. 

When all you wanted to do is to forge your own path, but again and again, you were denied by no one but yourself. Because, at this moment, you cannot believe in yourself and you definitely don’t believe in others.

So, my dear woman, how does one make peace with oneself?

And please, none of those lies. I can see though those. I am you, after all?

You thought you could make peace by just going along with the flow of life. You thought you’ll be happy as long as your family’s happy. You thought you could live life contently by “being the same as others”, whatever that means. You bury all your discontent, you thought you could work mechanically. Like, as long as you’re working and getting paid, as long as you get to do what you want after work, it’s fine, right...?

But it doesn’t seem like the case, hon. Maybe it’s the curse of being an INFPer, but you’re not happy because you don’t feel fulfilled in life. Work is definitely not being fulfilling, life isn’t really fulfilling, games are fulfilling but they meant nothing in the end. You listen to others because you thought they knew better, but inwardly, everything just feels wrong. But you kept quiet because you thought something’s wrong with you, that you just need to “grow up” and “accept how reality is”. Or so you thought, but inside, you’re still fighting aren’t you? 

You, who are able to see from every sides, are fighting a war within yourself, that represents all sides. It’s tiring, isn’t it? To carry these wars in your mind? Wanting to share, yet not wanting to burden. Wanting to talk, but not adamant enough to repeat and be understood. 

You want to let go of your current burdens, but you knew that if you do without a direction, it would just be a ticket into a path forged not of your own but one that is forced upon you; a life that perhaps many would curse you for being an ungrateful brat, and one that you hated because you absolutely abhorred having to live under your family’s shadow.

You always have the penchant to walk on harder, rougher paths because you wanted to prove yourself. But to whom? Was it out of self-satisfaction and improvement that you’re doing, or are you doing it in attempts to please others? Just when, when will you ever be comfortable enough in your own skin?

You always have a lot to think, and with so many wars in you, how can you feel at peace enough to work? 

Well, hopefully our little chat helped. I know you, you’re going to take a long time to think, because you’re a stubborn ass of paradoxical nature. You, who don’t believe that you’re able to get what you want, will continuously search for an answer that you want best. 

But first, you need to make peace with yourself... Such a heavy sentence, one that you knew you need it but don’t know where to start... and yet, here you are smiling, because you remember a particularly masterfully written fic and its memorable lines, of its major theme on making peace with oneself.

You have tried to make peace with yourself, and it doesn’t work. Perhaps, perhaps let in some people. Hear some other perspectives. Sometimes, we live in our head and limited perspectives made out of paranoia isn’t the most... comfortable way to live.

It’s so hard not to feel defensive, it’s easy to feel that everything’s your fault. But sometimes, it isn’t. It’s just the way how things are, but it doesn’t mean you have to accept them.

Sometimes, it’s feels tough. Life just keeps beating you down, and it’s so hard to get up. Don’t give up. Sometimes, it feels that there’s no reason to continue to fight on. Do fight on.