“…I just thought maybe we could find new ways to fall apart…”
At 29 years of age, there is a lot of pressure to feel successful and a lot of stress to minimize the ongoing early 20’s lifestyle I continue to live. That lifestyle involves a transient pattern of new cities, new countries, new jobs, and new people in a cycle that does not seem to be progressing any of my career ambitions or personal growth.
There is a tiny little being, or rather, a minuscule little object that exists right inside my head that reminds me on a daily basis of my constant failures, regular shortfalls, and also serves as a reminder of how I am fucking my life up in epic proportions. This little “Thang,” lets call it, is a shadow that follows me everywhere I go at all times and in every manner. Have you read “Through the Arc of the Rain Forest” by Karen Tei Kamashita? Well in that story, the protagonist wakes up one morning with a tiny buzzing ball that orbits around his head regardless of what he does to get rid of it or where he goes. As a reader, we begin to associate this buzzing, tiny, extraterrestrial ball as a part of Kazumasa. The two are the same. Just like this innocent narrator, the tiny little Thang that trails alongside me is not ball shape but just a voice and an echo of where I should be, where my friends are, where my siblings are, and basically in all essence where I am not.
It whispers into my ear as I sleep and infiltrates my dreams of places I have not yet been and of the people I have not yet become; as I wake up in sweats in the early hours of the day unable to return to that once peaceful amnesiac place I once called slumber, I feel its heavy presence lying next to me. I hear its breathless whisper, “What the fuck are you doing with your life at 29?”
“…sleeping is giving in, no matter what the time is…”
So sleep has turned from a simple momentary escape of daily life to a reminder of those things that I was not yet able to accomplish during my waking hours. So how do I deal with the Awake and the Dreaming? I have turned to the drink.
In the current restaurant where I work there is a person who reminds me on a constant basis of my daily failures. He reminds of what I have not yet become at almost three decades of living while he himself, at just the young fruitful age of 25, has accomplished enough to make him feel that he in the position to demean those who are still lost. Two beautiful babies and a wife is enough merit for him to daily, regularly, and with effortless words tell me that I have completely wasted my years here on Earth. While during those sober moments of living I can confidently say I am comfortable being where I am and would not trade in my life of aimless wandering for his early life of matrimony bliss, it is during those silences in the eery darkness when I am alone with the loud screeching of my Thang that I feel completely utterly broken. I feel nothing short of failure.
It is strange how the very thing that makes you the most insecure in life is the one thing that a perfect stranger can pinpoint and analyze to a fault without realizing just how much it cuts deep into the very essence of who you are. Whenever this coworker makes a comment about my age, my lifestyle, and the point I am in my life he does it with friendly sarcasm but how do I take it?… I take it like a knife through the heart.
This blog has no theme and no purpose after all. It was supposed to be about Transition and New Places, but in the end…it is just me trying to make sense of a typical Thursday night. Yeah, I just don’t care.
“…I like colourful clothing in the sun because it doesn’t remind me of anything…”