The Rush

It’s strange to see yourself changing, for a long period everything seems to be on freeze and out of a sudden, all the ideas and plans and goals keep blooming and popping up. I have spent a good 25 years of my life leading an uneventful lifestyle apart from some occasional rebellions that in fact were limited within the circle of existential fears of social norms and personal laziness. There’s no denying that I’ve always been too lazy to participate in exciting things. I used my part time job (which was house keeping at the time) as an excuse to avoid going to fairs and take the interpreter’s role, valuing my me-time (which always include the monotonous activities such as painting nails and watching either movies or videos) over social happenings. I’ve always told myself against going to Rock Storm festivals for so many consecutive years with the reason that the bands performing were boring while in fact I myself was the boredom. I denied immigrating to Australia because I was waiting for my boyfriend at the time to marry me, which, neither happened. In short, I was lazy and knew nothing better than those small immediate comforts.

Fast forward to this very month when I consciously started to acknowledge the changes that have already happened for so long but I refused to realize, in how I think and function as human being. There are many with different levels of significance, but they define me as a person and who I am, now. This makes me question my prejudice that I would never change (a bold statement back then, now I feel like kicking my own butt for what I said) and that how much I will change in the coming years. Life seems to be a continuous journey of changes, learnings and improvements whether I consciously seek for them, or they just come totally unexpected.

Aesthetically speaking, I was that type of girl (and I didn’t even like calling, or being called, a girl, now I’m a-okay with that) who would wear whatever I had in my closet – talk about oversize shirts, leggings and sandals. On Sundays I would wear a full face of makeup, with dark eyeshadows and pale nude lips sporting boyish short hair and never considered having a different hair color rather than black. Augusta circa fetus-2015. Fast forward to this past year I have transitioned into groomed eyebrows that require a pencil, a pomade, loads of brushing-through’s and finishing off with a brow gel. Excessive I know, but I like being excessive and flamboyant, sometimes. I ditched the eye makeup to sans-makeup and kicked my fear of wearing red lipsticks in the arse to who I am now, the one living for red or bold lip colors and can apply them perfectly straight from the bullet without any touch-ups or clean-ups. I now have long hair that was dyed an ombre flow of dark reddish purple and bright coppery red and planning to let honey blond take over. It’s shocking to see myself leaning towards more feminine clothing items but of course, still with an edge. I cannot stand being all girly, that kills my vibe.

I accepted the fact that I’m dipping my toes into the aging process, and I can no longer afford to be careless with my skin. I used to only sometimes use a bit of moisturizer at night, but now it’s become much more excessive with cleansers, toners, facial sprays, sunblocks, serums, gel moisturizers, creams, lotions and potions (gosh I love this term). It’s now all about the skin and making sure that I won’t see too many fine lines on my face. Isn’t it startling to see yourself transform from a teenager to a young adult and now being in your mid-twenty? In only a few short years I will enter my thirties, which should be the stable stage in various aspects: relationships, career and temper. I have yet to master or have a grip of neither, though.

This year surely has been a roller-coaster when it comes to almost everything, especially mentally. I have gone through the revelation that my health is not as good as I thought it was, and that I should pay more attention to my overall well-being. It was revealed that my mental issues weren’t due to age and hormones, but rather they are a part of my identity, and I must learn to control it. There’s not work-around the issues – it’s better to accept my problems and learn how to manipulate them. There’s no psychiatrists, confidants or assistances that are better than myself. My well-being depends on my own perception of the world, not on others and on the world in general. Fuck social norms, I would say. I have become somewhat of a rebel in my own sense: I traveled alone, I sat on the airport floor to get my phone’s battery charged for hours waiting for my flight not caring if my posture was nice to behold, I kick negativities when they approach (in another word, find something else to do to keep my mind off things), I go to yoga sessions, I actively connect with my old friends rather than waiting for them to reach out, I do whatever my heart content. Becoming free-spirit is what I am after.

This, however, leads to a much bigger scene: I’ve become restless. For this past month I’ve traveled to two places which are miles away from home and enjoyed them so much now I want more. I plan on visit an island next month (that’s happening for real) and so many other places I want to go to right now, and in my heart I want to, I yearn to, and cannot wait – but I must, of course. I cannot travel every single weekend, right? I don’t care if I will have a companion, I can go alone, and I already did once, so what about some more times? Traveling alone is the most liberating thing I’ve ever experienced in my lifetime. I want to break free from my monotonous life: traveling, going out with friends, doing different things, experiment what I’ve never done before. Everything, anything within my power, I want to do right now, even though I’m only 25 and still have years ahead to realize my goals. I’m become furious in seeking freshness that sometimes my heart wants to burst, but I still want to get out of my shell, and do something, whatever it may be.


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