peripateticpeasant

To the one that was so unsure of himself, that was too curious and got burnt flying too close to the sun.

Typing the first sentence already caused hesitation - did I want to refer to myself as “him” or “them”? Generally in my writing, I try to keep things as gender neutral as possible. A part of it is an ode to being anonymous, the private that is separate from the public, but another to my mother tongue - a language with no grammatical gender or gendered pronouns.

We make all these decisions, sometimes impromptu and carry it for longer than we should have.

You are still quite young, born in the new century, as it were. Entered a life where computers were already widespread. Internet soon after. And soon after that, smartphones. You got yours when you turned 12.

You had exposure to a lot of perspectives. Living from country to country. Vacationing in many. From visiting family back at the village, to living in the capital of the empire that colonised that village.

“The village” is a weird phrase - you never lived there. Your parents grew up and lived in the village. But you were merely a visitor.

You know this all. A constant cliché that never stops.

But it’s okay.

You are both an individual and a community that is in transition.

And in this “community of transition” there are others. Maybe not exactly like you, but there are others. You felt isolated and alone, and that’s okay.

I have now read many books, journal articles, blogs and papers about whole sorts of things. Religion, political economy, philosophy, gender, race, culture, psychology and of course, identity. I still do not have an answer for you to all those burning questions that keep you awake at night.

You don’t have to have everything figured out.

You don’t have to justify your existence because your existence is justification enough.

Continue doing what you are doing but carry in your heart what you already embody: resilience, perseverance and determination. Because you must be doing something right, if I am here now writing this letter to you.

So long, and as always, see you again.

(Using this site as my personal blog because I like yapping )

Crying on the street after confronting the private, outsourced visa company was not on my bucket list. It would be funny if it was not so mundane - but I had to overanalyze every slight body language and had to realise then and there that I had to travel to fuck all and be all alone again. Had to stutter with my words and feel like a tied knot because I had the audacity to stand up for myself and complain that I have waited way too long to get my fucking passport back.

Crying because I feel like my stimulant isn’t working. Which fucking sucks because I spent a large sum for travelling. The fucken meds. Makes me calm sometimes, but sometimes just makes the self-hatred more lucid and center stage. And the “crash”, - reminded me of my lowest days in high school. I told myself, it’s fine, I just have to tolerate its side effects until my supply’s done and can try another.

Crying because I crossed a boundary that my therapist had tried to push towards: opening up and accepting support from the people that hurt me the most: my own parents.

Crying because I feel both like a kid and an adult at the same fucking time.

And yet, feeling like shit, my heart breaking - realising I may have to actually be fully vulnerable with my parents for once - and the drug-fuelled anxiety simmering beneath, I still don’t wanna escape this life I live in.

Why the fuck would I? My own life, the only thing I have. Still feels shit most of the time, but there’s that annoying shithead voice that says: so what? You had a tough life. This is apart of it. You have handled worse. Still would not want it any other way.

For most of my life I dissociated. Life was merely a series of pictures and I was the audience. From birth to now. Never felt like I was in the driver’s seat.

Adult diagnosed Autism and ADHD. Figured that out just this year. Before, I “just” had GAD and SAD - which I also had to practically self-diagnose and asked to see a doctor.

The shrink said crying is a good release. Figures I had to do it in public. And yet, the world continues to spin, everything feels bad now, but apparently I am too stubborn to go back to feeling nothing and holding it all in.

Clawing on the floor and struggling, but I know it will happen. I will change. I will improve.

And I know it to be true because I already have.