transit

being a CH right now maybe tells me that i get caught up in structure, facts, order when i am in unfavourable situations. when i am allowing my circumstances to compromise my natural strengths and inclinations. the biggest circumstance is this transition.

the last time this happened i just wrote my way through it. and i stopped when i started going to church. i'm not sure yet what this says about me. do i only write in misery? that can't be the right deduction because right now is the most miserable time and i still have a hard time to write.

it has become difficult to write because of the eyes that i know are on me. each word i am imagining is being read by someone else, and all the judgements come rushing to the surface of my mind. i don't think it is true that i do not know how to reflect and process myself. but maybe it's just being locked up in my mind. and it comes out in trickles. if people ask questions. which is silly. why do i wait? why can't i tell myself about it? is it possible that one part of the brain lags behind another part? i thought i was to focus on writing about my transition less because it just iterated my weakness. which K has said she doesn't want to see. but there must be a way to communicate it that isn't in a weakness paradigm.

i left and preserved so carefully my perception of home. in a way perhaps it was also a way to preserve myself. i remember my first days in school in london and i remember feeling so out of place. wanting much to return. but back then were also the plans of home being built there. i was to prepare it. i revelled in being given this task.

when it became apparent that this was no longer happening i was at a loss for purpose of my stay there. i knew i was to return - and this would be the first and last time i truly felt like i was living in transit.

the previous time in singapore i was not old enough to understand the complexity of this. and i guess there was not much need for it.

this time was different because there was something that had truly changed my life and that i needed to carry with me somehow. it was a time where my decisions had more weight and would affect my future. i was trying to peel off layers, build good ones. i was wrong in what i carried about my home. if i had carried the right thing that was mine, i would have been able to preserve in the right way. but i didn't carry what was mine. i didn't carry God and his words, his plans, his love, for me. i chose to carry someone else's. carried someone else's identity. God's words for her, his plans for her, his love for her. i feel like a person being erased from a photo by time, like in back to the future.

and even when prompted to do otherwise, i was twisting it around to be the same wrong thing. maybe it's because i don't know how to look at my life. did i even know what my life really looked like? beyond the details, the small things, that i was transfixed on?

i am always taken aback somewhat when i see myself in a photo. it feels like: is that how i look? is that how much space i occupy? 

it is difficult to see myself by myself when there is knowledge of me being seen through intense hatred. disappointment. and my first instinct is to want to fix that. but what do i fix it with? someone else's tools, again? where are my own?

this transition is difficult because a lot of things are happening at once. maybe i would have needed more time to myself when i arrived. i thought i could just jump in. but my failures tell me that the reality is otherwise. i couldn't. when this circumstance happens there is a period where i need to absorb and adjust and gather my bearings. i thought i didn't need to do that here because, well. i have been here before. i know it. at least i thought i did.

what i knew of this place was six years past its expiry date. the number 6 will always have a bitter taste for me now.

i wish i was faster so that i don't have to further disturb someone else's  life.


will be writing more; this is not the end...