A Note on Honesty, and a Commemoration to Our Chemical Comradeship

For the last month or so, I've been going through a mini revolution. A disillusionment, if you will.

In this blog post, I'd like to address the repercussions of running away from the inevitable complexities you face in life, and the peril of forgoing intricate reflection. This is one of my natural tendencies; I'm a master procrastinator, and I avoid clearing my inquiries (especially in math class, dear god). However, recently I've come to realise how blinded this makes you . . .

In this month, I've been separated from an aspect of my life that heavily weighed me down. I felt no such obligations, nor prolonged exposure to toxicity. There was actually an absence of what I imagined my issues to be - which seemed odd - until I realised that I didn't own them, thus I didn't need to 'deal with' them. As I write this, I am slowly growing to be aware of how vague and diplomatic I'm trying to be about this, and how it's a stark contrast to the title of this darned post. In full tbh-honesty, I was entangled in an emotionally taxing comradeship. Having the notion that this was the meaning of mutual trust and support, I willingly took on a significant amount of strain. This was incredibly instinctive for me, as I am innately empathetic, so much so (in fact) that I literally perceive the circumstances of others as my own. For two years, I silently felt joy in 'being there' for a substantial string of incidents, and I was under the impression that this is what comradeship meant. In objective reality, however, this was not true.

Similar to how cells burst due to osmosis (forgive my IB-ridden thought process), there was an event in which I found my breaking point (it was much like how they describe finding a G-spot; a magnificent revelation). I additionally realised that there are times wherein you can't make sense of your own behaviour (and it may even seem like an overreaction to yourself), but it is valid and it will always be valid. Probably, you'd deem yourself a twat for thinking/feeling these anxieties and seek approval from your friends; twisting stories to make yourself seem like the victim; or invoking sympathy/empathy by injecting emotion to your narration.

The point here is that it doesn't matter how much you try to make yourself seem sane for feeling feelings, for you do not lose the right to feel your feelings, you feel? Nobody's encounters, testimonies, or opinions bear any substance in validating your needs and feelings. I should let ya'll know that when I say 'you,' I'm actually trying to teach myself and you these lessons (mostly myself).

With this post, though, I'm eulogising our comradeship and reclaiming my anxieties as marks of experience and understanding. It was an enthralling journey, but just as roller coasters do, rides must end, and often with a nostalgic satisfaction.

The Things to Blog About

Earlier today, I was thinking about how two of my closest friends are awfully skilled at blogging. They have such wonderful abilities to make me feel precisely what they feel, despite not having lived through those exact moments. I had an envious moment with myself then, and resounded, "oh, how I wish I was passionate enough about something to articulate my feelings so well," in my mind. It's no surprise to me, though. The three of us, as a part of Humans of GMIS, the community project we started, interviewed a teacher we kinda-sorta revere. As I condensed half an hour's worth of conversation into a paragraph, I found that these lines really stuck with me:

*said close friends Paxia and Rasagnya

"If I’d have lived my life once again, I’d stop worrying about the future, and I’d live more in the present. You see, work is only a means to earning a living, but the passions that don’t translate into money are the things that you value in your life. My passion has always been writing, and I struggle very hard to revive the time for it. There are only twenty four hours in a day - you’re not going to have more than that. So, wisdom lies in devoting some part in those twenty four hours everyday to something that you’re really passionate about."

 All of a sudden, I felt a certain pressure to document my life as of now. People keep telling me how this is going to be the highlight of my life, but in all honesty I didn't think I had anything significant enough to remember. Until now.

Side note: we graduated high school!

Latching on to the inspiration I drew from Hannah Hart's video just a few minutes ago, I had an impromptu series of reflections. Self awareness and intra-personal intelligence is something I really pride myself on, but I - just like any other Sheila - am not perfect. I gradually realised how the words of encouragement and pieces of sage advice I give others are reminders to myself. It takes heaps of patience, love, faith, and positive energy to conquer the negativity and doubt and fear that noodles up inside of you. Thus, instead of suppressing my inherent vanity by overcompensating with so much humility to the point wherein I think my actual achievements are unreal, and soaking myself in these shortcomings alone, I would like to grow together.

As I scrolled through my Instagram feed, I got quite mad at natural selection working its way into our daily activities. What sort of emotions are biologically ingrained in me that I innately turn someone else's happiness into an almost-need to watch them suffer? Why is no one else allowed to be happy but me? Why do I have such a sadistic attitude? Do people feel the same way about my happiness?

This is what I'm talking about, and while we're on the subject, I should share some thoughts from mom while we were having a chat over masala chai. We talked about the different dynamics between our generations; she said hers was tight in the sense that they didn't have money nor freedom, that they listened to both their parents and their children. She raved about the opportunities our generation have, and how theirs never dreamt of leaving their countries for jobs or a foreign education. Heck, women weren't even allowed to work. Granted, we do have a lot of opportunities, but at that moment I began to rue the distinct happiness that is forgone; the carefree sense of living specially reserved for one's Salad Days. I felt such contempt towards what was in lieu of this sense of living today: the premature air of heavy stress (as I'm not sure if I'm at the liberty to use the word anxiety).

I can jabber on about the loss of my time, about the overpopulation, and the self depreciation, but with this blog post I am determined to be a source of positivity. I do hope to form more codependent relationships that are just as unique as the people I share them with. To the best of my ability, I intend on making them feel as 'them' as they will ever be.

As Mr Ashish says,

In spite of all the chaos and the violence, there is still hope for all of us. 

PS - I've set a long term goal to consistently journal in hopes of making a book of it one day.