Oh, this is going to be a good one.

So first of all, I found my diary from 2002 and read bits of it. It is extremely embarrassing.  There were also a lot of things that I’d forgotten had happened. Those years weren’t super kind to me. But it’s funny… I could see my personality through those pages. It’s like nothing has changed, it’s like I’m the same person I was years ago. In some ways I suppose I am.  My personality has always been fleeting, it’s all about “feel” and not about “think”, it’s about diving straight in with eyes closed and shrugging at the fact that things could go awry but then complaining loudly when they do.  It ‘s about brushing off the things that hurt me most and not making a big deal about it, because I know it would hurt to truly pry, to re-examine events that had happened, to relive the pain.

I forgot about the boy like that. I had to force myself to forget. It’s funny when I say that, but I did. I would think of a memory and I would try to think of something else, willing time to fade those edges, to blur those mental images. I don’t remember too much now. I guess I would if I tried very hard. But I try not to. I remember snippets, I remember how certain things felt… like a hug, I remember the butterflies. But I don’t remember the voice very well, the days and nights when we would see each other blurred. It’s like it was all one incident. How lovely. How lovely to remember it like that.

I don’t know where life is taking me. I know I’m going somewhere. I am excited but also terrified. I get to go alone (a plus in my books) but it’s somewhere new (I like places that are quasi familiar, quasi new).

Huh. Well let’s move onto the boy. I’ve been thinking about it… not actively but I mean how can you really control your mind on these things? I think I’m impatient. I think I want to dive into something because it’s my personality. That it has been all heart and no mind, that I haven’t thought this through clearly, because to do so would mean that I would have to face the fact that this is temporary, that he will be gone in 10 months or so, that I will never be good enough to follow him along in his dreams, that I am a convenience.  I still don’t know if I truly like him. I don’t know if it is the act of being chosen that makes me want to stay, or the fact that I am more scared that I am unwanted, that I will never be good enough, that there was someone else better than me, than I am enamoured with his personality. This was the test right? Feeling good enough. To feel worthy. To be thrown away eventually, but be able to pick yourself up. And I haven’t mastered that at all.

I am so scared of that. I scares the shit out of me. I don’t know why. It shouldn’t, really. It’s petty. People get their hearts broken all the time, but for a girl who has played it safe for so long, I don’t understand the concept of heartbreak, I don’t understand the concept of vulnerability, I don’t want to understand, I refuse to understand, I will go kicking and screaming before you shove that dogma down my throat.

I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I want long term. Not in a relationship, but in my life. I don’t know where it is heading. And I feel like in my gut, there is this catch. There is this catch that I will refuse to verbalize, because it is an omen…. but I feel like maybe I shouldn’t figure it out? That it would be futile to do so. But who knows? I can’t read the future, I think my intuition only kicks in super effectively when I’m in uncomfortable situations and can read body language and facial expressions like no other. I guess it’s easier to be on the outside than the inside, you know. Like when people say that those observing a game of chess could theoretically play the game better than the players, because they have less on the line, it’s not just about them, it’s not just you and another person and some chess pieces between the two of you. I guess that’s the way I’ve been my whole life: looking in from the outside. It’s helped me stay safe, I’ve never had to get hurt. I’ve just heard all my friends’ stories 10 times over about heartbreak, about betrayal, about fathers who left, boys who hit them, girls who backstabbed them… and I’ve always nodded because I couldn’t relate, I had played it safe, I was so relieved that I hadn’t been hurt.

And now I’m in this situation where I get to be vulnerability, I have this opportunity to feel it. I have this opportunity to lose, to fall, to fall hard on the ground, to fall so hard that it doesn’t take me 5 seconds to pick myself off the ground. And I am petrified. I have this opportunity to be the one in the poker game who gives it all away… and it should be a learning experience right? But I feel like being so guarded, being so protected means that I am now at an age that I should be used to it, that I should know how to play this game and know that getting hurt is all part of it and could happen. And I just refuse. And so now I am in this bind where I don’t know what I want, because I want to never break ever again but I want to know what it’s like to fall in love. I want to know what it’s like to have to work things out, to get in fights, to make concessions, to give in order to take, to compromise, to work with someone, to travel the world with someone instead of doing it all alone. Because at this point, I am completely fine with it. But I wonder how long thought will last. I wonder how long I can use that thought to cloud the true fear that I am feeling.

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I don’t know how to start this post.

I’ve been trying to write this post for a month now. I always end up writing little blurbs on this site instead, skirting the issue. It’s like I know the general location of where my finger should go on the map, but I don’t want to touch it. Because that would mean that I would have to acknowledge it. And I’d rather be fleeting, I’d rather pretend I don’t understand, I’d rather live in the moment, dwell on the past, and never ever have to look at the tsunami of tomorrow that’s coming right at me.

So I don’t know if this will be the post where I let it go, because I need to. But here we are: writing. I’m listening to Foxbeard (live) and it’s soothing. Okay. Okay. I’ll start.

I remember the walks through the golf course very vividly. I remember walking up the stairs in the dead heat, never in the rain. I remember riding my bike over the shallow puddles that formed over years of neglected road and weathered potholes that had consequently formed. I remember doing this all alone, and I liked that. I liked being by myself. I liked living in the moment. I liked having a purpose: those walks up the mountain, up that cliff. I remember trespassing golf games, watching the rows and rows of golf carts, and deciding whether or not to walk straight up the cliff or walk through the wood passageway before I took the other set of stairs. I’m recounting this because I’m nostalgic, I miss it.  Everything’s changed. This is a memory that’s constant. I had no worries; it was just me and that mountain and I was fine. It was just me and my 6 hour walking adventures, and I loved it. I didn’t know what the future held, but I didn’t care. I was happy.

There are no mountains near me now where I can walk. So instead I now roll downhill from the cliff to the downtown area populated by trees close to water. I make those treks and I am not sure if there is a profound meaning to them. That I keep coming back, that I am not emotionally invested, but I keep thinking about months ahead. Like will I still be making these treks? What are we going to do during these treks? During my adventures down here, what will change?  My friend keeps using the word “man” but I hate it. I think he’s still a boy. And I don’t know if I’m ready to get hurt again, to be vulnerable again. It’s like the entire time so far, I’ve been so guarded because of what happened years ago, but I’m getting so tired of this going nowhere. I want the rollercoaster ride and yet I don’t. I want to fall in but never hit rock bottom. And you can’t have it both ways.

So I’m conflicted. That I want to dive into something more or have this play out for a year and then move on and smile wide with a dead look in my eyes and say “oh, everything’s just fine.” I feel like I’ve set myself up to have my heart broken, to have every expectation become unmet. I don’t know what he wants either. There are moments when I feel like everything is okay, that I’m happy to be with him, and others where I’m just so angry, frustrated, confused about why things are turning out this way, that nothing makes sense. It’s like walking about the trees turning colour and being so focused on other things that you forget to see the beauty around you. I feel like I am running myself deeper into a cave and I just keep going so I don’t have to think about the struggle of finding my way out. I feel like I will never be good enough for him, I feel like I will never lead the life I want when I talk to him, I feel like everything won’t work out by the time I’m 25.

On my old blog, I wrote this letter to my 25 year-old self when I was about to turn 21. It means a lot to me, the words cut close to home. I don’t know if 25-year-old me can answer most of those questions that I had. I mean, the boy is gone. Nada. Nothing. There is no story there. This is not a story I want to tell. But the other parts? I am almost 25 now. I am not sure if I will have those answers… but maybe. But you know… there’s this nagging feeling that I want to go to the city. That I want to move. And I’m trying to find the opportunity. And I feel like there could be an opportunity that will come up, but it’s so far-fetched in terms of logistics that it’s laughable.  I know what I want, but I don’t know how to get there. Some days I get lost in my way, and I forget where I came from, but every conversation about what I’m passionate about leads me back to that city, that job, that industry, that version of myself.

I wonder if I could show 20 year-old me what has happened, if she would be confused, angry, impatient, happy? That things turned out like this. That nothing went according to plan, but part of not knowing was fine because all these wonderful little surprises came up along the way. The fact that I had a plan is laughable, because I had pretty much gone on this campaign that I would “go with the flow” and see where life takes me. And yet here I am, and I am not happy living that life. I feel like I’m falling behind and everybody knows it. I feel like I haven’t gotten my shit together, and all the stuff that I’m destined to do just isn’t going to happen. And yes, I believe there are timelines and expiration dates that have to be met. This project cannot be delayed.

Ah. Here I go again. Ranting on about goals, paths, and whatever, and being so confused about how to go about leading my own life.

Well I did it. I talked about it. I don’t know if I fully captured everything, but maybe it’s better that way.