What could journals teach you?

I am trying to approach this topic in a way which does not lean too much towards narcissism but that's a little difficult to do because well, this is... my blog. Where my amorphous emotions are unveiled, given a form, a name, a definition. Just so that its power as a suffocating tangled mass of colour and cloud (which would inevitably lead to an anxiety attack) is hopefully defeated.  

*Other than that, I journal because I genuinely find the act of writing on pages gratifying.* 

Hello, visitor. Almost didn't see you there. 

Recently, I was doing the annual clean-up of my space and I found my journals dating back from 2016 -2021 and I noticed that there was a similar theme of what upsetted me, what made me happy, what terrorised me, and what caused me anxiety. However, I also noticed a jarring problem. I did not write much about my life when things were going good. ...And man, were there good times. 

Somewhere between reading the contents of these entries, sneezing from the amount of dust particles invading my nostrils and cringing (BIG TIME), I realised the following :-

1. There are some people whom, despite the fact that you want to cling on to because they have been there through a very important part of your life, you must recognise that you have outgrown. It does more harm to hold on than to let go. So, LET GO. 
    
2. Conversely, there are some friends who are so low maintenance but genuinely want to see you happy and succeed without expectations. These are people who might keep you in their prayers, they are not calculative about who started more conversations first, it's like time hasn't lapsed when you eventually meet up and you actually feel recharged when you leave them. Thank your lucky stars you crossed paths with them, and make an effort to keep them in your life.
   
   
3. There are endless cliche motivational quotes, all of which you've probably seen, liked, saved but nothing hits quite like watching your ownself fall apart over the same thing over and over again. It made me want to go back in time and give myself a hug and promise that this time, things will be different.
   
   
4. I learned that I lacked something absolutely necessary in my interactions with people I got attached to :- BOUNDARIES. To truly learn what this is and then actually exercise it is a fierce act of self love. 
   
   
5. When you are aware of what you are, as in all your strengths and weaknesses, and when you watch your mental growth (which of course journaling helps with) it can be very empowering and it creates a confidence to interact with others + go about life too!
   
   
6. Journaling is like reading letters from a pen pal you feel so soulfully connected to , except it's YOU. Your journal can have entries where it's penning your expectations for your year, or the next five to come (and then seeing how much came true), maybe even what you hope would never repeat. Who better to keep you accountable than your own self?
   
   
7. A skill is only going to grow if you exercise/practice it, so in order to not cremate whatever semblance of (non-professional) writing flair left, I will try to make more consistent entries whether in my written journal or in this blog. You can't starve your creative self then sit down and wonder if you still 'got it'. 

Moving forward, I want to do some things different about this year onwards, which is to write about the good stuff more. To write about what I am grateful for. To write about moments which, though fleeting, you know would flash before your eyes when you're about to die. I want to live, really live. Meet as many people  who provide perspective in this kaleidoscopic world as I can. 

So all in all, it was a healing (?) and clarifying experience. 10/10 would recommend.

Having said that, we've encroached into mid January and I don't already have one for the year. Time to fix that soon. 

What does being in love feel like ?

To be in love, I believe, is one of life's peak experiences. It's the stuff books and songs are written about since the dawn of time. It's the kind of emotion that drives one to the brink of insanity. Sure,  the ancient greeks have coined eight (8) different types of 'love'  (TLDR: Agape, Eros, Phillia, Philautia, Storge, Pragma, Ludus, Mania) but none has been so widely promulgated in literature such as the romantic love you feel for someone whom makes you feel like you've accidentally stumbled upon something you didn't think you'd need but now you cannot live without. Actually, there's a word for that. Serendipity. The real pity (hehe) unfortunately, is that some live their whole lives without ever knowing what love is. 

I discovered early on that when it comes to love, *logic will leave the chatroom*. For two people to fall in love simultaneously is an alignment of the right time, being at the right place, radiating the right pheromones, being the right person for both yourself and the other person-- and other times it's just something that feels right for two people and happens by chance. The statistical probability of something like that working out for you in your early 20s in a planet of approximately 7 billion people (once you've filtered for the right age, gender, religion, personality, physical preferences or other compatibility that is) ?

Does this mean you'll never find a match? Just as you pass the mid-20s mark, suddenly , you're forced to stare this prospect in it's glaring eyeball. First, the idea seeps in from wedding postings of friends' friends. Then it's your friends. Then it's your family. And before you know it you're 30 , thinking about whether the universe and that perfectly-timed statistical <s>im</s>plausibility will work with  you before the biological clock works against you. 

So, it begs the question. 

What does being in love feel like? There is sure as hell no universal answer to a question like this. But today, I will try to postulate. Here's a little fictional narrative. 

---

She had the kind of unparalleled , almost paralyzing beauty, that even if you tried to stop yourself, you couldn't help but take a peak and blush (however slight) when your eyes eventually met hers. Even in default, resting-mode, if she enjoyed your company, her eyes glistened with interest, her body leaned in towards you as she listened ardently, and man, was she expressive. When she flirted, she did it with limited words. It was heavy on body language and her voice would transform, as if to ask you, "Is this really the best you can do?"  (which was enough to draw the attention of any narcissist whom immediately felt both smitten and challenged. It made them feel like they were dealing with a woman whom knew exactly what she wanted, which thrilled them.) It was the subtle hair flips, the right perfume, the outfit she picked out days in advance. The manner she crossed her legs. The way she handled her drink. The way she held a cigarette. It was like watching a skilled artist at work. Her eyes always appeared as if it was laced with eyeliner, much like a stereotypical Egyptian goddess, but it was only the thickness of her lashes. She always wore rings, and preferred her nails manicured and painted (often emerald or red)-- this was when she most felt in her element. On her left cheek, there was a dimple which looked as if God himself took a teaspoon and made a slight indentation there. I remember reading somewhere that cheek dimples are a genetically transmitted abnormality of a muscle in the cheek. Pfft. One man's 'genetic abnormality' might be another man's cause for 'rapid heart flutters' . Her skin was tanned, Polynesian. A combination of these made her ethnically ambiguous, a trait she valued deeply.  Unfortunately, it also attracted trouble. Lots of it. 

At first glance, you would expect that she was familiar with 'pretty-privilege'--ironically, she spent her early years living a life of anything but. When you sit down and take the time to get to know her, you open yourself to a kind of story you wouldn't normally pair with someone who outwardly looked like that. When she spoke, it revealed of a kind of intelligence, the kind she didn't have to work hard for. You knew that she read good books, watched good shows, discussed good documentaries to fill up her free time. The kind of chick who really did not care about clout. She listened exclusively to music which does not air on the radio and lost interest in them as soon as it went mainstream. 

There are two kinds of people. You're either a body with a soul, or a soul with a body. She was the person who truly revealed to me what this meant. She made me realise that the both of us formed the latter. She made me see that we were made up of the similar strain of stardust particles, in a multiverse with a billion planets.  Do you know what the odds of something like that are? And to think, if only one decision went differently. 

But above all, as far as I could remember, she was sad. She was troubled. Like most young women, she was unsure of her place in this world and lacked a sense of belonging to any person, any place, and any religion. The drugs, they elevated her experience to life, so much so that she wanted that experience to be the default, so much so that real life became the bits of digression from the default. She was easily overwhelmed with the responsibilities and demands of real life, but that mattered little especially because the world somehow wielded to her favour.

---

Key takeaways:

I learned some years later, that to love someone, and I mean REALLY love someone, is to sometimes leave them to allow them space to grow into who they are meant to be without your constant projections of what their life ought to be. To stay by their side in the name of "love" but be frustrated that they are not matching expectations you've set for them in your head is a form of suffocation which is NOT love. This is more like being in love with an IDEA of a person. And THAT'S what the cliche "If you love something set it free" means. In retrospect, I always hated this quote. Now, I stand corrected. If something is destined for you,  the universe will send it to you when you're ready for it. But sometimes, people are just there to reveal to us lessons, (and this can very closely resemble love but it may not be). 

Love must be two people willing to put in the work and consciously choose each other despite the odds, every day. It cannot be love if it's always 90:10, 80:20, 70:30. It cannot be love if it makes you equally miserable to stay and leave. It cannot be love if you are unable to set boundaries with the other. It cannot be love if  your identity is so merged with theirs (Re: Enmeshment) It cannot be love if you have lost who you are, in order to fit into their world. It cannot be love if their family does not see you as their equal. It cannot be love if you're scared to disagree with them. It cannot be love if your 'love' is a secret which can never see the light of day. 

The most important thing I learned about love is that it can sometimes escape the standard definitions available for it, even by ancient Greek standards, and it is something really personal and unique to each lover. 

Conclusion 

All said and done, what an all-consuming feeling it is to be in love-- and what a blissful experience that is, despite the bitter aftertaste of hurt when it doesn't work out and you witness a whole dimension of your identity  crumbling like a house of cards in slow motion. 

It's only words.

 

My first love, if I remember correctly, had always been, to write. As a child, I would use any spare exercise books I owned to pen out my candid thoughts (because God-forbid I said them out loud) or some made-up stories, (which, in retrospect, must have been largely influenced by the content I watched growing up.) Being young, the themes centered on love, friends, mystery, forbidden love, and murder (!). You know, the usual.  The first panel of critiques were my immediate family. They did not really encourage or like my stories to begin with, but it did provide them with comedic relief, whether it was through the less-than-perfect spelling or the outrageous plots. They didn’t tell me I should stop though. I learned early on in life, that that was as close to ‘approval’ that I would be getting.

From an early age of eight, I was labelled as “overly ambitious”, whether in my writing, or what I wanted out of life. It reflected in my fictional stories. The stories would contain too many elements or characters, or maybe the reader would have no idea where the story is headed until the very end. The stories took the form of every genre. I didn’t know very much about writing technique, how to gage a reader, how to construct sentences properly. All I knew was, it brought me great joy to pen what was in my head, onto the sheets of paper. It wasn’t even for someone to read. The satisfaction lied in knowing I had the ability to pursue that route if I wanted.

Self-esteem:

Another thing which brought me great joy was to learn a new word. The more pompous it sounded, the better. It made me feel like I had an upper hand (over what, I don’t know). It made me feel ‘uppity’. Somehow my mind drew this simplified link: Big words= Intelligence =Successful future. I’ll admit that it made me feel good to not only know the big words but also in what context they should be used. When I was fourteen, my English teacher made the class write down a new word on the class notice board daily and two sentences which exemplify its usage. It goes without saying that my favourite type of homework were the English essays I wrote. To this date, I am grateful about it. I’d even have a book in which I would write down some sentences which really impressed/stood out to me.

Music:

So, what does a love for writing, words, outrageous plots develop into? A love for music of course! Just not the ones which regularly played on local radio. I enjoyed seeking out (because this added to the value of it) music which had uncommon lyrics/words. These fine picks would be on repeat. I remember, vividly, how prepubescent me adored the band Eisley. I remember idolizing the music of Lily Allen, circa 2009. At the time, nothing topped her. She cracked the code of blending unique sounds with even more unique lyrics. I also liked the fact that she was not mainstream, from where I grew up at least. Constant listening to “Best of British” after school made me…a bit of a music snob.

 

Love interests:

If I sat down and thought about it, and I mean, really thought about it, a large number of crushes I developed were on people who had a gift with words. To me, expression with words were the direct window to someone’s heart. Granted, there were people who used paintbrushes, a guitar, a spray can, a camera, a skateboard, a sport, (and the list goes on…) but my personal kryptonite were those whom used a keyboard. However, it must be remembered that at seventeen,  Instagram was not so much a thing yet (?) and it was not like you could go up to people and ask to look into their journals to see what their mind was really about, so blogging was the closest source to obtain that understanding. What irked them. What fascinated them. How they described the most mundane happenings in their day. And man, when I came across that, I dissolved into it like fine salt.  

 

I was thirteen when I came across an individual whom was so unabashedly themselves (and I will refrain from using pronouns here because I don’t know what they identify as) and wrote like it was their life’s calling. It didn’t matter to me what that person was like in real life, how they treated those around me, or what their principles were. I was so charmed by the way this person had a distinctive, self-made style, or flair, and it was unlike anything I had seen before. This brief (but big) chapter in my life would end with fourteen-year-old me writing/typing some twenty something paged narrative about how much this person meant to me, followed by utter regret about that for some many years to come. It was only much belatedly after that when I realized, it was not “love” ( to be fair, what would I have known about love?) but rather, this person had traits I wished I could have embodied, but was too scared to actually do so. It was admiration.  In hindsight, I truly envy the courage it must have taken teenage me to even conjure up their heart and soul in written form, pass it to that person, and leave the rest to the universe. That’s blind faith. (Most of that courage has faded away).

 

I was also around thirteen / fourteen when I came across another individual who resembled the typical teenage heartthrob, who knew how to work a side smile, preferred to wear their hair gelled (and at the same time with a fringe long enough to pull off a hair flip), and recorded Youtube covers of whatever acoustic hits teen boys listen to. This was the kind of person whom was generally surrounded by a large group of friends, oozing in sheer confidence and popularity.  However, all of that was pale in comparison to the way this person wrote. That was the defining trait for me which roped my interest in. It was very candid, straight to the point, sprinkled with a hint of appropriately-timed humor. Unfortunately, for both these examples of love interest that teen me would have pined for, I would not have been the most glamorous choice of person to get to know or be with. I don’t even say this in a bitter way, I mean, I had to put in so much work into myself mentally, physically and emotionally before I could perceive myself as someone to date.

 

Career:

It turned out that years of my consistent love for words and writing would have led to no better conclusion than to study to become a lawyer (!) Or, as actual lawyers would say, read law. I could not see myself as a writer, because, I wasn’t born with a financial safety net. (Let’s be real, I had to find a compromise between what I was good at, and what could make me a decent income).

What I love about this profession is that you’re consuming so much of important information about (1) How the legal structures and systems we have today came about (2) Why they are needed, (3) What are the laws or systems in place, and (4) What are the best ways to narrate your client’s grievances or how to present the best defences in place to defeat a claim against someone. If only all it took to be a lawyer was eloquence and writing skills. But it isn’t enough. It’s an ultimate test of mental strength, it can be very humbling, and maybe every few years or so, there is a different analogy you’d use to simplify what you’d do for a living. So I will go with what’s most recent.

When I started out, during chambering, I would have simplified litigation as a form of ‘story-telling’ to the Judge with persuasive arguments to swing him in your favour.

Then, not too long ago, I looked at lawyering as a profession of regimented rules. Structure. A game of organisation. A game, where what is at stake are liberties, monies, payment of debts, declaration of a status, perhaps. Manage your knowledge. Manage your time. Present the best case within the confines of the rules. However, that lens/angle seems a little too…one-dimensional. Truth be told, the law is a little too wide and vague to be summarised. There’s private law (Between individuals) and then there is public law (interests of the state, constitutional matters, etc) . I learned, in the course of my studies that I have a soft spot for the latter. However, I decided that I needed to get experience in the former first, to increase my employability.

In recent times, (and I mean at the point of writing this entry) I found a new lens to litigation. In a lot of ways, being a litigation lawyer is like playing a calculated and strategised game of chess.  The knowledge which a person acquires in the span of their education and their early years in practice are like pawns. Expending time, effort and study into bettering your pawns earn you the bigger powerful pieces, like a Castle, maybe a Knight, or a Bishop. The interlocutory applications you file are the moves you’re making.

Where the problem lies

At some point, because you want to perfect the game, it can start to feel like your entire life is defined by your ability to play this game of chess well. It gets difficult to remember that this game of chess is not your entire identity. You actually have the ability to say “I don’t think I want to play this game for a while, I would like to take a break, and I would like to try other games, perhaps one which does not require as much from me perpetually” . It can get to a point that you feel like if you left that game, you’d die. You had already spent too much time perfecting your winning chances. The sad reality is that it’s a game which takes your whole life to perfect. In fact, that’s why it’s called “practicing law”. And even then, at the point when you know all the rules to the game, a new manual to play it is released. (I am talking about a change of law!) So I guess, It is not as simple as winning and losing. In fact, it is far more complex that that.

There comes a point when the very base of what you started out with becomes lost in all the layers which get added on top . You lose sight of the base, how happy it made you, to just, I don't know, ...write (?) . Now it's morphed into this multilayered structure that is suddenly bigger than being just about you and it's now beyond your control and you have no choice but to carry on the game you started playing.

Resolution

So I guess the question becomes, what is even the point of writing any of these down? And the simple answer is this. When we lose sight of what is the core of us, life does not become worth living. There may be countless 'factory-manufactured-settings-people' , of which many are forced into conformance in order to earn a living. My take is this. At our dying days, we might come to find that our whole life and all its big decisions are structured around the gift we have been blessed with, spent our entire life developing and perfecting, only because it brought joy. So, when you find that joy is no longer in the equation, it is time to take an aerial view of things and see if this is what we want to continue pursuing. 

What I want to say irl, .and really wish were real:

Nothing is worth letting your core die. The essence of who you are is one of its kind, it is priceless, and should in no circumstance be sacrificed for temporary conformance with a pre-determined and rigged system of bureaucracy and capitalism which pre-dates our existence. 

What I actually have to say:

If only it were that easy though. Bills need to get paid. 

 

 

  

So, actually, WHAT are you doing now ah?

I think that if an Aussie Dollar were donated every time I was asked that (^) question and smoothly maneuvered it , we'd be saving the lives of many kangaroos and koalas rn. -.-

[Source: https://www.bbc.com/news/in-pictures-50971879]

--Truly devastating start to the year.

You see . Like most 25 year old asian young adults who have degrees and still live with their aged parents because there's-no-way-in-hell-this-economy-and-job-market-is-going-to-reward-them-financially-and-it's-not-because-they-are-lazy-or-incompetent;-unless-they-settle-for-shit-pay-or-become-a-retail-slave.

I decided to do the unthinkable. I decided to take a break. *pause* *gulp*.

Life since being an 18 year old clutz who was navigating her way through A -levels has been a streak of hustling. I always knew that a career would be at the finishing line of this 7 year journey, but I did not expect to feel such chaos, to be so divided-- when the time came to commit to being a lawyer. I've been made to feel, in many ways, that choice is not a luxury afforded for people like me. That if I dared dream of pursuing anything else apart from a lawyer as a career, I was either ungrateful or doomed to fail. I was made to feel that a job serves one purpose, to make an income to pay the bills and give back. You know, like a cash cow.

(Fuck things like a work-life-balance, how far it is from home, whether you enjoy learning from the job, whether you see a career progression, whether you have the energy  to invest in things which make you feel alive like meeting your friends, learning a language, working out, or watching a beautiful sunset, right?)

"Studied to be a lawyer right, so look for job in a firm la."

The thing is, in the I have also expressed, in many ways, that I did not think I was a right fit for practice. Not because of practice. I have the highest of regards for the legal profession. The first reason is a largely curable one. I felt burnt out. Like I did not invest time in myself doing other things I love. I only followed some sort of a checklist, an academic plan. I was not at peace with myself. But to cure this would have taken a complete time-out of all responsibility and accountability. One which I am glad I took.

"So, actually, why were you burnt out, ah?"

A. COMMUTING

During my chambering period, I took the public transport. Let me give you an idea of what that is like.

20 min drive by dad (now retired) to a train station + 30 min LRT ride to Plaza Rakyat + 20 min MRT ride to Pusat Bandar Damansara + 10 min Feeder bus to Plaza Damansara + 1 min walk to office.

WHY did I do this?

Pros:
1. I have a phobia of getting into an accident.
2. I also suffered from random pangs of anxiety, and I would not have known what to do if I got a panic attack in the midst of a traffic jam.
3. I  saw it as an eco-friendly option, and it allows me to chill in the air-conditioned train and listen to music.
4. I did not have to spend on parking, toll or petrol which served me well much later (i.e now when I accumulated a large amount of savings)

Cons:
Being small sized, mornings would be like standing under a roof of tall people's arms, in a packed train. I swear there was this one time someone puked mid-standing , and I was still 4 stations away, and getting off to take another one would have made me very late-- it was the most uncomfortable train-ride in my life. Sometimes, even though you're just commuting, it can be an exhausting process especially after a long day when all you want to do is get some rest ASAP. Leaving early did not mean reaching home early, so I'd have to eat out for dinner (cause I got hungry a lot). It made me feel handicapped to not be able to get myself to places. But I still thought the pros outweighed the drawbacks.

This was the grind practically everyday, to and fro, unless I had to stay on in the night , then my dad would pick me up. I felt bad for needing to still depend on him. But I am sure others have worse problems.


B) FEELINGS OF INCOMPETENCE

Throughout my studies, I was lucky enough to get good grades. I think this was largely due to the fact that academic exams give you a period of time to learn something and WRITE your answers down in a fixed time. It took a lot of pressure off making instantaneous decisions. A-grade exam papers did not necessarily translate to A-grade lawyers. I found myself stumbling in matters of procedure. I did not have a lot of things I should have at the tips of my fingers.

Of course one could say this is just the beginning and you're bound to make mistakes but sometimes these mistakes were costly.  I felt like apart from repetitive drafting work, I did not have much potential. I felt like I should have taken CLP more seriously. I felt like I was disappointing my bosses. But it was never their job to mollycoddle me. In fact, I appreciate the high standards I was held accountable to.

But at one point, I felt out of touch, I fell out of love with what I was doing because these mistakes I were making were telling me that I was not doing something I love. Because when you love something, and when you put your passion into it, you still feel a sense of wanting to go back no matter how many times you feel punched down. That was missing for me.


C) A LACK OF SUPPORT AND RESEARCH ON ALTERNATIVE CAREER PATHS.

 Don't get me wrong. My parents were very supportive of my pursuits, but any mention of a career outside a lawyer was met with so much criticism that I did not entertain that idea that much. My view was that a law degree is a diverse  and valuable one, which opens the door to so many fields. It was the reason I chose this degree in the first place. I was very keen on exploring a career as a Diplomat. I also felt that, this is the exact reason that you pursue tertiary education, it gives you some sort of bargaining power in the job market and you don't HAVE to settle for any scraps that come your way, or the first company who is willing to pay anything. Beggars cannot be choosers, they say, but I certainly would not call myself a beggar.

At the end of the day, this is not a blame game. Maybe I was in control of a lot more than I gave myself credit for. All I know is, at that time , I was not myself. I was not happy. It was spilling over onto all other interactions and subtle aspects of my life. Fast forward to end of August .

***

So then chambering ended. I got called to the Bar in December. Great. What happened in between/ next?


In a hyper-shortened recap of things;

As part of an office trip, in no particular order :-
The force of the wind blowing trough my hair on the cliffs of Bali, eating fresh seafood by Jimbaran beach amidst the beautiful Balinese sunset, blue waters, a window seat in the airplane, experimenting with local cuisine and laughing with the best roommates. Oh, and how could I forget getting ripped off over some bangles I got as souvenirs .

 

 

 

 

 

As part of being needing a break from scorching hot KL sun:- The chill of the Pahang waterfalls, the vibrant coloured cactuses , a bite off some juicy and fresh strawberries, the night market, all while in 15 degrees Cameron Highlands weather .

 

 

 

As part of a birthday weekend getaway:- I basked in the sands of Port Dickson beach with mom and dad. There's a mini home-video about it ! 

I embraced the peace of the recently named senior citizen friendly Taiping city ;

 

I attended a dear friend's wedding in Ipoh with my ex colleagues;

 

When I turned 24, I visited one of the most luxurious bars I've had the pleasure of coming across *cough* Vogue *cough* and had lunch in a pretty cafe;

I signed up for a malayalam class.

I started watching good movies and really paying attention to its screenwriting, dialogue, scenes.

I started watching good shows, the ones that leave you  a little less dumb after. (Patriot Act ftw)

I started writing songs and journaling a little more.

I started listening to meditation podcasts to fall asleep.

I spent a lot of time with my cats.

I started jogging whenever I could.

I tried an aerial yoga class.

I tried a fly-cycle class. (TEN OUTTA TEN WOULD RECOMMEND)

I tried to make some banana pancakes and falafels, and whatever random curries my mom was in the mood to teach;

I tried to socialise--met some new faces (and old ones).

 

 

 

I bonded with my inner circle over a staycation, in the heart of KL. (and dropped monopoly money into the toilet)

I spent more time with family.

I took the time to take in beautiful sunsets and rainbows, even if it were just in front of my house.

Of course, throughout this time, job applications were in the mix too, ...but good things take time I guess?

"So, was this all, worth it ah? if ultimately you're still unemployed?"

My final answer is , YES. With a capital 'yeargh'.

1.  I learned more about self love in the past 5 months than I did in the past 25 years.

2. I did not ask anyone for any money, surviving off my own accumulated savings, while still paying off my PTPTN and phone/Netflix bills.

3. So really, if any boomer tries to make me feel lesser for choosing the choices I did, all I have to say is that, our end goals differ, and it takes a sub-human level of strength to not succumb to the Asian-parent guilt and choose YOUR version of happiness.

4. Because guess what, I am not a cash cow. And guess what, I found that keeping everyone else in my life happy and content made me the most miserable. So this is me choosing me, being kinder with myself, having more patience and forgiveness with my ownself for once.

5. My views on not practicing have since changed, and I am now open to trying anything once, because everything is a learning experience, and because I am now recharged.

Disclaimer: Please understand that growth is a continuous process, and so is perception. These are my thoughts as of now.

***