I mean, how else am I gonna keep going, right?
Nowadays, I find myself accompanied mostly by my maudlin thoughts, and I have dabbled with the idea of returning to my writing roots more than once in the past few months.
I’ve greatly lost my passion for the written word while in med school, being bombarded with medical facts and hard science day in and day out, losing the flair for writing I was once told I had.
This year, the administration decided to switch things up and assign us to a seat plan that we would adopt for the entire academic year. I was lucky enough to be seated next to a friend, who is as enthusiastic about the written word as one could be. During class, while I while away the boredom by browsing through various social media sites on my phone, she was preoccupied with writing her stories or reading poetry, among other things. I have never told her this, but I found myself envious of the ease with which writing came to her. I used to be like that, I would think, in between morning lectures and before I fell asleep in the afternoon ones.
I have realized slowly that I am in need of an outlet for my thoughts once more. These days, the lack of confidantes is both a thorn at my side and a blessing of sorts. I confess to feeling a bit cut-off from everyone lately, and I have no idea if it is intentional on my part or not. I have resorted to taking up new hobbies throughout this year in order to fill the void. I began the art of tarot, which I am still pursuing but have put on hold due to a lack of a mentor. I bought several books in the hopes of reigniting my love for the written word, but none have resonated with me yet, and I don’t imagine my busy academic life is helping on that front. I have taken to Netflix, but again, being in med school makes it more of a distraction than a help. A week ago, I attempted to start knitting, and while it is too early to tell if I would be passionate about it, I decided to restart this blog up in the hopes of clearing my thoughts better and regaining the catharsis that writing has provided me in the past.
So there you have it. Every week, or maybe every two weeks, I will come up with something to write — be it about my week, my struggles with exercise and dieting (if that ever happens), or whatever hobby I choose to prioritize during that period.
I also promised myself when 2017 began that I wish this year will open me up to more experiences, more friends… more life. I confess to lying if I said, or wrote, that I wish this does not enrich my life more. But I guess only time will tell if I will actually succeed with this endeavor or not.
Until next time,
But death and life, success and failure, pain and pleasure, wealth and poverty, all these happen to good and bad alike, and they are neither noble nor shameful—and hence neither good nor bad.
Meditations, Marcus Aurelius (translated by Gregory Hays)
The rain clouds are here once more 🌧
Everytime i wake up to my alarm, I am reminded that I don’t deserve nice things
The struggle is real.
Barely a month later, and here I am again.
It’s getting so much harder for me to keep on keeping on, even though I realize that the material is actually getting easier.
It’s like I cannot muster up the strength to get my brain to work and it’s so frustrating– so frustrating to keep on disappointing people when on the outside, I don’t even have an excuse or anything to complain about, except the fact that I’m so bloody tired.
It upsets me to think that I write here on my blog now because it’s the only “safe” place for me. It’s like a cry for help- to want my thoughts to be out there, but at the same time, in a not-so-visible platform. These are thoughts I definitely cannot air out on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, partly because they’re infested with well-wishers who try their best to make you feel better but somehow end up making you feel worse. And then you feel even more sorry because you know their words come from a good place, but why does it only annoy you? (At this point, I don’t even know what I want anymore, honestly)
Sometimes I wonder if this is a manifestation of something far worse inside of me, but I’ve read stuff about those and I don’t feel the overwhelming, crushing feeling of the Grim or the needless tossing-and-turning, or the I-can’t-feel-anything feelings. I’m just so spent and I’m so tired of making excuses for myself and I’m scared that I’m running out of gas for this long drive. And I’m not even sure I like the destination anymore.