“I am trying to be brave with my decision.”

Today is one of those days where I look to poetry to save my soul, for words to remind me of the strength I have within myself, and for faith for all the things – too many to count – that I’ve no control over. These things I’ve no control over are the same ones that are adamant to mess with my equilibrium and create chaos.

A good friend last night, on one of my Facebook statuses, left the following comment:

“I’ve been following your statuses since you came home and my conclusion is, you’ve been away too long haha. Jane, welcome back and get used to it.” 

I was about to reply, before a friend of Eldest Bro left a reply:

“Keep the mind open and don’t conform to the local thinking. Change where you can.” 

In other words, there is no need to ‘get used to it’ just for the sake of getting used to it.

So here I am. A little angry, perpetually annoyed, and right now – a little sad.

This is also me conveying that I appreciate the messages that continue to come, asking about how I am, whether I’m hanging in there fine – if I’m not, which it seems like I’m not, hey do you want to talk about it? – but I need to be honest: I’m not ready to talk about it. I am just not. I’m not ready to discuss in-detailed my stressors, what I feel right now and where I see myself and whatnot. I freely admit I am sharing these thoughts on my Facebook to real life friends, but they’re mostly my gripe about the Malaysian community. In other words, they are indirect reflections of my internal state of mind and soul, but so far I’m avoiding any direct and open contemplation. I am not ready to talk about this, any of this, beyond what I have thus far published here and my scattered thoughts on Twitter. It’s easy to talk about stupid things; not so much everything else.

I am not asking for understanding because I know that my immediate circle already do, nor am I apologizing because there is nothing to apologize for – it is what it is and that is all. I’m just stating this here, putting this here, to let you know that I appreciate all good wishes and kind words but I’m just not in a position and state of mind, at least right now, to let you, anyone really, in to the compartments of my heart and mind.

Because what I know right now is that I am suffocating and therefore, desperate:

I need to find my footing, stand my ground, and hold steady.

“I am trying to be brave,” I admitted to Eldest Sis this morning, in retrospect about my first week back, “about the decision I have made, coming home. Because it is hard. I remind myself that there are years of struggle, long and hard, before light cracks through. It sucks and it is difficult, but it is a necessary evil.” 

A pause; repeat for maximum effect.

“I am trying to be brave with my decision.”

I think I might have to chew on my words harder and for much longer than I thought. This afternoon, a phone call came through; not good news. I suppose it’s true that I will have to begin again in everything – professionally too now, because this is becoming more a reality and less a possibility. I don’t know how I feel about this.

Okay, I’m lying. I do. It sucks. It fucking sucks. I hate this outcome.

But I am conditioning myself right now to not just be a grown-up but act like one. In my desperate quest to save my soul, today I am reminding myself – to the point of total exasperation – that in the long list of things of what my mother has taught me, the most powerful lesson is that irrespective in hardship or happiness: life goes on.

When life hands us lemons, they’re not going to suddenly, miraculously turn into lemonades. The bad lemons aren’t going to be automatically and conveniently singled out, leaving behind only the good fruits. I hate to be the one to break this to you but- nope. You move – or the lemons will stay as lemons, all potential wasted.

In short: I am not my mother’s daughter for nothing.

I need to remember this, in the same way I remember everything about my metamorphosis abroad. Contrary to what society expects of me and snotty that I come off as, I am not the same girl I was six years ago when I left. This girl – no, young woman – is different. Grown. I need to remember this, like I do everything else.

Because I have never been so desperate in my life, God help me, as I am right now.


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