“Something has got to change,” I exhaled out in frustration as I splayed out on Elita’s bed. She’s finishing folding up her undergarments. In exchange for company, I came over to her new apartment to help her fold clothes. It was a Thursday evening. We both had work the next morning, but an hour earlier, I stood in my room like the lone “girl standing emoji” with a helmet already strapped on, jacket on, and scooter in the hallway, waiting for one of my friends to text back.
I received a few, “sorry, im busy tn,” “ive got so much to do,” and lots of people I fell out of touch with that I wouldn’t feel whole if I reconnected with them.
I stood in my room, staring down at my lock screen as it charged, poking it twice to see if I had any new notifications, meanwhile I planned some sort of contingency plan of going alone out to the esplanade. It was one of the last few warm days of the year, in the city of Cambridge / Boston, and I craved for spontaneity with other folks who could vibe with me.
I knew in the back of my mind, if I were to go out alone again, as I always have done, that I’d probably cry and feel even more miserable. I had already done my introversion over my work weekend (Tuesday and Wednesday this week) that I felt sorry for myself and desperate for friends. Making friends growing up is hard. We’ve become so selective with our limited energies, myself included. I know myself that I have opted to not reach out to certain folks as I knew I wouldn’t enjoy or get something out of experiences with others. I feel guilty a bit.
I sometimes romanticize the fact of meeting strangers as some sort of adventure on its own and a part of my journey to self, as life is such — however, lately, I have been people’d out. I see strangers on a constant basis in the cafe, and I guess I should be happy for that opportunity, because not many people who work in a 9a-5p job are able to this opportunity meeting folks and serving coffee - like life is easy, right? NO. FUCKING NO, IT’S NOT - BECAUSE WHO TF WANTS TO HANG OUT WITH ME.
I’m frustrated and I poke at my phone a couple more times, growing restless in my room, standing still above my desk. The front view camera view prob doesn’t look cute, I thought. It never is on the spur moment. I took to the mirror and checked out my fit, made sure my hair was okay, and double-checked if I had indeed packed tea cigarettes. I don’t smoke often or even pretty much at all - however, I’m feeling the change. The changing of seasons in a couple of days had already crept in New England as the air started getting a little chillier. Halloween is creeping up, and talks of costumes have been popping up in the cafe more prevalently. We’re due to roll out with our fall seasonal syrups in T-minus two days.
I got a text back from my ringed-in missed call to Elita. “Sorry, was doing laundry.”
“In the mood for a drink and smoking tea cigarettes tbh,” I texted.
She reacted by “hearting” the message, and I took that as a sign that she understood my needs.
“We can hang around Central until my clothes finish drying.”
I unplugged my low battery phone, palmed my scooter, and proceeded out the door.
“Call Elita,” I tell Siri.
“Calling El - itta.”
I smirk at the pronunciation.
“Helloooo?”
“Hi, can I come to your place?”
“Of course.”
“Alright, I’m on my way. Can I use FindMy App to get to where you are? You’re at your new place, right?”
“Yes —“
“— great. I’ll see you there.”
So, I’m laying on Elita’s full-sized bed and feeling the absence of the luxurious life I left behind in Texas. I would be in king sized bed if I were there. I would have had probably upgraded my car. I would have had a lot of money saved to travel. I would have had an even more flexible schedule to do so. So why, why, Thi, can you not commit and follow through and sacrifice just a bit in order to get the things you want?
I phoned my brother, Truong, a second time the day before, “I’m sorry — I’m calling again to actually confide in you.. about returning to Texas.” I had skirted around the topic on the earlier call and exchanged pleasantries about how our day was going. At the end, I received a little dose of endorphins for seeing Princeton, his handsome German Shepherd, thinking that was the end of our conversation.
“I’m calling again because…you know…it’s hard,” I sighed.
“Change is hard.”
We paused.
“You know, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t see you fitting in Texas.”
I laugh. All this time, my family disapproved my abrupt leave from Texas. I could have used a little love on my lonesome journey here, but alas, it is my doing to go down this lone path. It just would have been nice.
Would have been. Would have. Would had been. Has been’s. Conditional past tense. Thi! WHY ARE YOU USING THESE NEGATIVE THINKING PATTERNS! Okay, Thi, be kind to yourself. Watch how you talk to yourself. You’re your best friend and life-long companion, have patience. Calm. Calm. It’s going to be okay. You’re hurt, I get it. It doesn’t mean you should beat yourself up. In fact, the opposite. Treat yourself with tender care.
Tender. I like that word lately. I am search of that feeling lately. A tender care. Understanding. I encountered the phrase earlier while scrolling through the inter-webs, “Understanding is one of the highest forms of love.”
Elita and I chomped down on some burgers and treated ourselves to a cocktail on this Thursday night. And when we walked back home from Harvard to Central Square, I confessed, “Elita, I don’t do well with routines.”
Earlier out of excitement, I proposed that we have this sort of thing every Thursday. She excitedly replied, “Thirsty Thursdays!” and I excitedly replied back, “And we’ll have drinks every time and you know what save money next time and drink at home, ay?” In rabid excitement we exclaim with glee, “Ah yes!” giggling as we licked the juicy burgers off our fingers. At the joint, Boston Burger Co. in Cambridge which was where we were at, the walls were riddled with Boston themes. They had hired someone to paint murals of Boston skylines, the red line train stops, and notable monuments.
There was a fake wall of red bricks on vinyl pasted on a column that made me pause to think for a bit. They could have done a lot better to make it more authentic, but eh, I guess it’ll do. I got the Boston vibe alright. Besides Thi, if you’re able to look beyond physical appearances and truly look inside of what has in store for you, maybe you’ll have a better outlook in life and perhaps better life satisfaction, hey? It’s not about what you can or cannot afford for the time being. It’s about doing what makes you happy. Cut yourself some slack.
“I’m 25, Elita, this is what it’s like to be in a quarter-life crisis,” I yapped on and on all evening, spilling out the details of my life in vivid color - work, social, and love life. “Today, my old boss came in, yeah, the COO of the company, YEAH, and just got a coffee, she never gets coffee, DUDE, it was so awkwardddd.” “But like, I’m doing actually great at work. I get a lot of recognition for my taste buds. I’m doing something right that people love, and I love that.” “I don’t think me and this other girl will work out. But you know, I ain’t that worried, because hm I do have a person in mind…” And so on. Insecurities. Existential thoughts and a couple philosophical questions. Rhethorical, no need to think, I stress, because thinking about replying probably makes us more sad. Some psychologist would apply this to a certain phenomenon or belief, I wish I had the word for that but I currently don’t.
“THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE uh in a quarter-life crisis, but that’s if,” I take a moment for my surroundings to envelope me. It’s cool. It’s the turn of autumn. There’s a chill in the air, but it’s still very comfortable to be walking around outside. Refreshing and hopeful even.
“… but that’s if I get to be 100 years old. I don’t think many of us will get to be 100 years old. For all I know, I could live to 50. And so… technically I could be in just my mid-life crisis now.”
“Noooo,” Elita wails.
“I knowwwww,” I join in the thought cry fest.
“Well, you’re not meant to be that person.”
“Not meant to be what?” I got what she was saying, “Oh, to be a routine person?” I scratch my elbows, “Yeah, it bothers me. I don’t want to be that person. But…”
“You are,” she says at the same time as I say
“I am.”
“That’s okay. It’s just who you are,” she accepted.
“So Thirsty Thursdays sound like a great idea. I really love it, however I cannot promise that it would become a thing.”
I sighed looked down and continued walking past the city hall, restaurants, and bars.
“Yeah, maybe we can come here next time?” we peered into a lively bar with a live band playing. Next door, an Irish pub buzzed with a good mix of evening crowd.
How funny is it that people sometimes seem to know myself better than I do?
I’m currently laying in bed right now. I’ve been typing this journal nonstop and I haven’t done so much word spillage in quite a while as I have been so fearful in the past of being unread, but that fear is something I am currently slaying I think.
For some reason, I see myself as some warrior-type shit with a curved machete knife (had to Google to make sure what that was lmao i think i’m right, you know that one that the devil holds up, the curved grim reaper spear). There’s tall grass in front of me and they’re riddled with disease and they also take away nutrients from the soil. It’s necessary to clear these stalks in order to till the ground correctly later on.
It’s 5:32am. I get to work in less than three hours. And to wrap things up, I will finally address the title or the thing that got me to whip out my iPad and start journaling again. It’s been a long while, and I’m glad to be letting these thoughts out. It relieves a pressure from my brain. I write out of necessity, I remind you.
…
So I’m fairly well-rested as I slept a generous amount of hours these past few days. I feel my muscles aching from all the work I put into the cafe these past almost three years. I know, or rather my bones know, that this kind of work is not sustainable for me. I am tired, but quite restless at my next decision in life. I am not sure what to do next. If Texas isn’t for me, then what else was it that I aspired to be that I could be happy for the time being?
I’m staring up dark ceiling and I ask myself, “Well, what kind of life do I want to build for myself?”
I really like my tiny shoebox room. It’s really cute and all I need. I get afraid to show people to see my tiny space, because I’m scared of what they would assume about me. But, eh Thi. that doesn’t really matter. What about you Thi? What is it that you like about this place?
“Well, it’s my moving castle, like Howl’s Moving Castle.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, and I see it with trinkets of gold in mind, which I already have, but if I were more sure of my move back to Texas or someplace else, I would not even think about this further, but I’m not so sure. And I don’t feel ready…”
“Okay, so you don’t feel ready, listen to yourself, Thi.”
“Okay, and if I could do it in a cute way that’s not overdone and and and… messy like what my mind feels like most of the time… well, actually uh idk about that but if it can just REFLECT who I am with eh maybe a few sun catchers and perhaps a light bulb into a drop pendant lantern thing it would be wow, make me very happy, to see that change. Gem filled, glimmer filled, just like my soul.”
And so I’m filled with a little glee in the crack of dawn. It’s still twilight outside. I screwed out the light bulb to see what size it was and what I could fit in there. Why would I buy more furniture if I am going to leave? It doesn’t seem like I want to for now.
Truong also mentioned on that phone call, “You’re going to have to make sacrifices no matter what in order to achieve what you want in life.”
I really thought that moving back to Texas, accepting the slow way of life and building my own shed on the hills of Lake Travis would be that beautiful sacrifice, however, maybe sacrificing the idea of Texas and comfort is that sacrifice.
I want to return to the idea of ikigai often. I think it can help me. It is a three-way intersection of doing the things I love, what I’m good at, and how the world can benefit. I’d like for this to become a lucrative career. I’m 25, age is just a number, I’m trying my best and it’s really all I’ve could have done. Now, time for the next challenge, shall we? Choosing our battles… what a privilege to do so.
I’ve given depths to people’s lives, raised good questions on their journey and purpose, and at the same time, I allowed myself to feel so much beauty, light, and darkness.
I’d really like to change that light bulb into a cute pendant lantern.