in the name of quarter life crisis

28 Sep

I really don’t understand why my creative juice always dries up when I need it, especially for writing. Blogging is really whenever I want to and whatever I want to write about (nothing really serious). It’s really more like an extremely public thinking-out-loud process. But when I’m really “forced” to write… of course after a well-intended volunteering for LKYSPPeak… I really don’t know where all the words are gone to.

But I feel like the trouble I’m going through is deeper. I’ve had a really hard time concentrating recently in anything, from studying to writing to working to yoga. I keep telling myself I have to concentrate, concentrate and concentrate (forcing myself again), my fingers are already typing (or just the alphabet f as it’s the first thing that pops up anyways) for the 84th time that day.

I think I’m just suffering from the lack of motivation in general, getting used to the routine of everyday that I have always lived for the past 18 years of schooling. I’m going through one of those of housewife (not literally… of course) crisis that Betty Friedan has excellently put as the “feminine mystique.” Of course I appreciate the fact that I’ve led a relatively comfortable, privileged life, thanks to my parents. Although I may not have everything, I have never experienced anything dramatically tragic in my life, like death in my family or of friends, extremely poverty, oppression of individual freedom, etc. But while everything is given, I’m having such a first world (that many people call “selfish,” a la _Eat, Pray, Love_) agony right now. I forgot (or don’t know at all) how to enjoy myself and how to love me. Again, it might be a selfish desire, but how can I love others (which I want to pursue for the rest of my life from personal life to the professional) without having a sufficient love and firm inner core of myself? I really don’t blame Julia Roberts… I mean Elizabeth Gilbert.

I’m still passionate about what I have been passionate about -I’m still the person who’s a vocal feminist, who enjoys good times with friends, who love shoes, and who cares about others. But I can’t help but thinking that I actually don’t know how to love myself and consistently pursue my passion, not because I’m kiasu but because I want to be the best person that I can become to complete the love that I understand and know of. Until I went to college, I tried my best so that I can please others as the brightest person that they expect me to be. In college, I don’t know how I even passed the 4 precious years without thinking these things. And now, going to grad school as a half-baked adult, I’m feeling like an ADHD 7-year-old who is going through a mid-life crisis of a 50-year-old.

I want to fall in love with something and go for it with all my passion whether that be writing or painting or work or dancing. But I don’t seem to be able to do that at all. And I get back to the writing that has been unorganized for the past 48 hours.

I only wish every 500-word writing is as easy as this verbal diarrhea.


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