Tag Archives: writing

Froze the One-Third in a Jar

What had happened for the past four months? Surprisingly, a lot.

Work has been really stimulating, and meeting new people brings out newer sides of me. An introverted person with mild social anxiety would be struggling to adjust, and that’s me right after I wrote the last post but I’m getting there.

Right now? I’m eating fine. I’m exercising twice a week. I have a routine, a 10-to-6 desk job that involves writing and data capturing. It was a huge turnout compared to last year. Instead of a depressed person who loves to be indoors for seven days a week, now she is a depressed person who gets paid to be indoors for five days a week. There’s silver lining for everything I guess.

There has been times where I grew tired of writing, and it feels like I’m not myself. I don’t have inspirations or muses, even reading has grown to be a tiresome activity at one point. But now? I’m starting to write again, baby steps.

My point is that the past few months I’ve been taking care of myself better than last year, and I feel great and understand myself a little better, as well as knowing more about different types of people I’m dealing with.

It’s a nice change of pace.

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Coastal Wish

I am currently watching Homes by the Sea on NatGeo now. There is a lot of grandiose abodes with marvelous interiors and stuff. When will I get to that point in life, being able to waltz into my own home and gobbled up the seaview as you enter the living room? That would be immensely gratifying, to be honest.

Like in Sussex or Brighton or Northumberland.

Or in Cannes or Montpellier.

Or in Positano or in Syracuse.

Or anywhere in Moroccan soil.

There’s a fine line between wishful thinking and daydreaming. Either you snap out of it or you don’t. But instead, you get up and work hard. Until you get to that point in life, where you’re bummed with all the coastal living choices you have to make.

Fortnight Resolution

It’s only fair that I got to catch up with all my posts-print and online-to make a resolution in celebration of the new year.

Well, since I am now at my quarter 20s (does that even exist) my only resolution is that I live through 2017. That’s all.

At one point, this blog is a mere after thought of what I perceive of things, writing it all down for strangers to read online. To be honest, if I were to write frank opinion of the events we went through on 2016, I probably get another nudge from people to tone it down. Seriously, my twitter account was a bitter, concise side of me and I have to take down most of the posts there since it’s not a savory act-and sarcasm does not project well in writing.

2017, bring it on. 

Being Sincere All Day Is Not Healthy.

Wouldn’t you agree, that being nice is the most sincere and spontaneous thing you could ever done to someone? It’s just that default setting in someone’s soul to be nice, even if it’s just telling them they’re on the right train platform or even helping with their bag and talking about their how nice their hair look that day.

Well, newsflash. People aren’t that nice all day.

There’s going to be some lady elbowing you so hard, fighting to get inside an already cramped train ride. Also, there’s going to be some guy slashed your tote bag on its side trying to get into your wallet. There’s always those days where you’re dealing with these kinds of people and you can’t help it. Because the world isn’t always that nice to you.

Sometimes, you just gotta suck it up and move on. But it’s better to be sincerely mad at the world–it’s healthy–since you have nowhere else to live but in it anyway.

In response to Daily Prompt, Sincere

I’m Feeling 22 (but I’m not sure everything will be alright.)

I have been experiencing various and increasingly intensified internal struggle for the past few weeks. To be honest with you, this is written on the eve of my birthday three days ago with nothing but pure irritation towards the world. To think that you would at least feel elated to sing Taylor Swift’s 22 and it fits your age–not necessarily applies to the situation at hand.

Unlike the happiness you feel at birthday parties, it’s more of a sadness over nothing. I’m not sad because I’m getting older. I’m sad because I can’t seem to escape the current phase of my life despite being told to get out of there as quickly as I can. I have done everything in my power to do it but I can’t seem to go.

Baby boomers–like my parents–might see this as an attempt at aggressively surfacing a nonexistent issue. Putting it mildly, it’s called making stuff up to cover the fact that my generation is a bunch of whiny incompetent young people. Well, you can’t blame them. As we are getting more advanced in everything, we have to adhere to an even more progressive way to live. The quality is staggeringly high compared to the years before my country discovers television networks (that’s 1989 for ‘ya).

The other part is that apparently, the issue exists–scientifically. The Guardian reported five years ago that British psychologists shows educated twenty and thirtysomethings most likely to be hit by pre-midlife blues. Not only we are insecure, but also depressed.

So why are we making a big deal out of this? We’re not. At least I’m not. But the fact that other people in the age of 50s calling it “being sad/hyperbolic over nothing” is just not cool, not cool.

In response to Daily Prompt, Hyperbole

That Pause Before Adult-ing the Adult Stuff.

Suddenly it dawned on me, that I am a grown up person who recently passed thesis defense and currently awaiting on graduation. This is not the average high school grad, this is the college grad. The last formal graduation I’ll ever have, that is until I start another study trying to get doctoral hopefully.

My dad told me to chill for a bit before start to look for jobs since I’ve been “studying for 12 years”. So yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past two weeks since the last revision thesis turn-in.

I’ve done loads of writing, though you’ll never see any of it. Writing has always been that one activity where I can get away from other people and just be me. Writing is good for the soul, my soul at least. That is when you can sort yourself, and trying to make sense of things when your brain isn’t really keen on doing it for you. There are loads of things to write down and sometimes it doesn’t mean a thing but when you re-read it again on any other day, it makes a load of sense. For example, motivational writings.

I’ve been baking too, and that’s an entirely new thing for me. It started out a week ago when my father who make and sell pizzas for a couple of months told me that I don’t really have some type of food that is truly my creation. He continued that everyone but me in the family at least be able to make one thing. My mother bake personalized macaroni schotel, my brother make pancakes from scratch, and my father make pizza. I consider that a challenge, so I tried to make sugar cookies.

Long story short, I got too much flour on it and ended up with sugar dough balls (the first time). It tasted good though. Then the second time I tried it, I use tad bit too many butter and ended up with lady fingers-like cookies. It melts straight away and had just the right amount of sweetness though. The third time I tried it with cocoa powder it turned out so beautiful, I had to continue. The most recent one is the perfect balance between sugar, flour, and butter and I made a whole batch, it was delicious.

But I knew it in my heart that baking isn’t my forte. To bake is to follow series of chemical instruction and ingredients one shouldn’t question. I’m all about improv cooking. Mind you, I make killer grilled cheese sandwich and eggs on toast. I guess that’s where I’m good at, comfort food.

But, that pause before actually entering adulthood of constant working and make ends meet is actually just you being pressured by your parents about why you still having trouble finding a job. So yeah, a good pause. It really sends shiver down any fresh grads’ spine.

In response to the Daily Prompt, Shiver.