I realized that I couldn’t write properly on papers anymore. It was really messy, ink spread over the desk and books. Not recommended.
I had this habit of journaling for 23 years maybe. I started journaling at 6.
But then things changed. Sometimes I was too anxious, other times I felt I could do something more productive. And journaling is not on the list.
So I turned 29 today. It was so stressful. I was trying to image how a perfect day is like. But then I had panic attacks. I receive text messages greeting me but I do not know who the sender is. And I feel I should reciprocate but I miss the phone calls on my way to a cafe.
And I was trying to finish my todo list but failed.
Yesterday I had dinner with my high school friend. That was cool and relaxing. And I went home. My dad had just sent my brother to the train station. My brother went home to vote.
We had a tense conversation half a year ago on the housing construction. And then we never conversed. He suggested I move out and buy my own house and to be considerable for the others. And then he talked bitterly about how much heritage he might have got from our grandparents, if they hadn’t been bankrupt. I imaged he must have had difficult days as well, so that his words were falling into complaints and orders, and by his own definition, lack of consideration for the others.
I never felt a sensation of home, or feeling at home. I actually don’t know what that means. Either someone is scrubbing the floor or cleaning the kitchen and making a bunch of noises, either the neighbors are screaming or shouting at one another, or that I happen to have panic attacks and depressed. And that I have to respond to the spontaneous calls or complaints from my parents, or the complaints from my brother.
It’s really not a place where I would feel relaxed. Back when I was in university, I could stay in the library until midnight almost every day and feel that’s my home. Being with my roommates is a lot easier. It’s a place where I sleep and store stuff. Nothing more. Little did I know that, for the rest of my twenties, it’s just gonna be like that. There is no quiet and tranquil place, even if it’s my residency, that I could stay eternally and forever.
A very quiet place, people walking without talking.
When I feel at home, that’s when the whole house is empty, no one is there.
And then I was staying in Hong Kong, a restless city. I couldn’t afford a normal room, so I stayed in a place almost like a slum for 5 months. But the smoke, the noise, the almost unusable bathroom were catastrophic — — that I stayed out all the time. I almost lived in the library.
And then in Germany. I was assigned to live with 3 guys. The tech uni city itself has a male to female ratio of 10 to 1. And the dorm rooms in that city are very scarce. That drove me crazy. I was living in a quiet forest. But the three guys — — I don’t want to live in a dorm with 3 heterosexual guys. That got me super stressed out. I almost never returned to the dorm. I slept sometimes in the library.
And then I moved out after I returned from Taiwan. Meanwhile, I had to deal with my studies, find an internship, find a job, finance myself properly, sort out the interpersonal relationships. By then my insomnia has rotten to a point where my neurotic system collapsed and I had to suspend my studies.
People thought I was capable of doing many things. I thought so too. But then I was too distracted at keeping my hectic days alive, pretending I was fine that I couldn’t concentrate anymore.
Things just kept moving and rolling forward. I still feel restless and homeless. I had a great time in Belgium and Barcelona, but that didn’t last long. When I am back in Taiwan, I still have to deal with my family issues, my eternal health concern, and my self-doubt about my careers.
Now I am 29 years-old. I am sitting in a Starbucks with a backpack of my toothbrush and books and journals — — for that I have to thank Starbucks, for that it gives me great comfort in every foreign city and calms me down. I thought I should go to a hostel for a retreat.
On my way to this place, I got lost and absorbed by the Monday morning city traffic. I almost couldn’t breathe.
No, stop. Let’s just find a cafe and chill. Write, do nothing.
Sometimes, maybe years later, you’ll regret about you not doing much in your late twenties. You didn’t work hard enough because you have to work on your internal peace — — people might laugh about it. But it’s okay. Things never really go as you think. It’s okay. Whatever happened, whatever didn’t happen, life keeps going on. Happy birthday my darling.
