Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Terrible Twenty-Three

There are 90+ days before Christmas (I don't know the exact number of days since I stopped my countdown after 100th day mark) and just few weeks before October 18, my birthday - two occasions I actually pay attention to, that I had to make a countdown (although I've said I discontinued my Christmas countdown, too much math).  As of 11:24 P.M., there are 27 days to go before the big day and although I am doing this mental countdown to my quasi quarter life, let it be known that I am not much of excited as I were, say 5-10 years ago.

I remember being eight and excited to be 12. I remember being 12 and wished I'd be 12 forever. 

A lot of people say that age is just a number. That age has nothing to do with wisdom, maturity, growth, and responsibility. You can be 40-something, 4'10", be the president of the Philippines, and remain irresponsible (with initials GMA) or you can be in your tweens, 4 feet something, and be a hero. I'd like to think age is a benchmark for seniority and nothing else. It just makes you feel terrible adding up all the numbers and losing your hair.

Truth is, I'm scared to be twenty-three. I've gone two decades and two years of my life, but I still feel I haven't done enough. I can already hear people, sighing and shaking their heads, telling "you're too young to say that," but come to think it, if the day comes and something happens (of which I don't really want to think about, but who knows) and I've left a very unsatisfying life on Earth, I'd really feel bad. I'd look at myself and say, "what a complete waste of time." They say life is what you make it, that whatever happens to you is due to your actions and decisions, but what if you don't make anything? Or what if you're fated to be something, but decided beforehand that what you chose would be better. Turns out, it's the worse choice and it's already to late to reverse everything?

I have 27 days left before I turn 23. I have so many things that I would want to do before that day. I'm not sure what I would feel if I reach 24 and haven't done any of those. I hope I'd muster enough courage to finally fulfill what I'd want to do and make the last 22 years worthwhile, before I go on and add another year to my birthday candle.

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Cheer up, my next post will be my wish list, hehehe

Saturday, September 17, 2011

#thejeep


My friends.

They let me wait for hours, despite feeling under the weather just to watch this video.

I love my berkede~

Sunday, September 4, 2011

/laslas



Troy Dyer of the movie Reality Bites said that all you have to be at 23 is to be yourself.

It could have been that easy, had I known what I to be at 23. Some people my age have reached great heights, achieved so many things, travelled far and wide. While I’m here, half whining and half feeling complacent at the speed of how my life is going. 

When I was 12, I thought I knew what I wanted to be. I wanted to be a writer. I knew I had to be there, see the world for what it is and write about it. I was determined to have my name in newspapers in bylines. I knew I had to study hard, do well in languages so I can express myself in written words. I knew I wasn’t eloquent. Sure, I can carry a brief conversation, but I really don’t like speaking to other people. Even at a young age, they saw how talkative I was. But truth is, I’d rather write. I’ve always liked myself when I was 12, wide-eyed and ambitious, that’s why when people ask me how old I am, I’d always say I’m 12, because during that time, I like who I was. 

Fast forward 10 years after, I hate to say this, but I still haven’t done anything close to what I thought I was to do. At 22, I’m in an office, in my cubicle, writing. But it isn’t the stuff I wanted to write about. It isn’t the thing I dream of doing.

What I am doing now pays for things. I am able to eat in places I want, buy the things I don’t necessarily need, drink what I swore won’t drink again, go to places, things that I thought would make me happy. Deep inside, I feel empty. I feel ashamed of my 12-year old self who dreamt and promise she’d be somebody someday.

In few weeks, I’ll be 23. I don’t know what it is to be myself. It’s sad that I still don’t know what I want. I still don’t know what it is to be “yourself.” I don’t want to do an Elizabeth Gilbert, you know to “Eat, Pray, Love,” but maybe it’s something I need. To discover who I really am and who I want to be. I don’t think 22 is too late for self-realisation. Well, I do hope not.