I haven’t been writing. No, strike that. I have been writing assignments. I have been writing mails, I suppose. Does writing messages count? I hope they do. But the point is, I haven’t been writing the way I used to – sitting on my laptop with an empty screen in front of me, weighing my words, tasting the way they feel in my mouth as I read them aloud. Or simply letting my wind wander and land on whichever words they want to and let the post write itself because it is cathartic. No, I haven’t been doing that.
I haven’t been playing the ukulele either. In fact the last time I posted a cover of a song must have been six months ago. Other than replying to comments on my YouTube channel (most of which are requests for tutorials that I simply don’t have the editing skills for) I haven’t been doing much in that scene.
I haven’t been socialising. I am off all form of social media for a month now, and I feel ridiculously liberated. I am no longer governed by numbers and pointless comparisons, and yes, I am turning into a hermit and no longer updated about what’s trending and what’s not but at least I am at peace.
I haven’t been painting. It has been ages since I picked up my brush and lovingly created messes on paper. Just the other day, I was inspired to make a hand-painted card, and had gathered enough motivation to create a whole new palette of colours, only to realise that there was a sample card I had made a few months ago that fulfilled the purpose, so I didn’t really have to make another card.
So what have I been doing? I’ve been reading – trashy whodunnit novels that lull me into a sense of faux productivity (after all, isn’t any kind of reading better than not reading at all?) I’ve been trying to convince total strangers to bare their most intimate secrets to me as part of my internship for my PG Diploma in Counselling Psychology which requires me to clock in a certain number of hours before I can get my diploma – not that I have been very successful at that, even if the sessions are pro bono. I have been getting ready and packing to go home after four whole years, and worrying a lot about how the littler one would be around grandparents she has never met, while experiencing winter for the first time ever.
And I have been having conversations. Long, deep, meaningful conversations with the few friends I am still in touch with, the people I genuinely want in my life. Conversations about life and existential crises (because let’s face it, we all have one of those from time to time), about religion and spirituality, about our unrealistic expectations from ourselves and how we are our own harshest critics, about love and hatred and everything in between. I have been practising being wholly present for the people around me. I have been advocating mindfulness – no, not in the “sit and meditate and avoid distractions” way, but by acknowledging the flow of thoughts and being present in the here and now and embracing the impermanence of it.
I have been prioritising my health – not in a “I need to look thin” way, but by doing what makes me happy. I love the fact that when I am doing my The Be.Come Project routines and my two year old asks me, “Mamma are you having fun?”, I smile and nod and gasp between breaths and say yes, I am having so, so much fun. I have also been spending time on the treadmill, letting music lead the pace, allowing my heartbeat to sync with the beats, soaking up the dopamine rush and thoroughly enjoying the release it offers me.
Sometimes, friends ask me, “Why have you stopped writing?” or “Why have you stopped singing?” or even “Why don’t you paint anymore?” And I realise that it is not something I have been consciously avoiding. Maybe this is the chapter in my life where I am learning to be okay with not doing something all the time. Maybe this is the part where, by giving myself that freedom to not be constantly creative and productive, I am learning to be more compassionate with myself. It’s okay, I am telling myself. It’s okay if you don’t feel like writing. It’s okay if you don’t feel like doing anything at all. Maybe one day you will. Maybe one day, when it’s raining outside and you feel restless, and your fingers itch to type out words, you will sit on your laptop and write a post after ages, without thinking about what it is like to be away for a long time. Because just like your home, your blog waits for you. And it doesn’t matter if you’ve been away, cause home is the one place you can always return to.
P.S. I have also been very actively seeking out discontinued and rare to find perfumes to add to my collection. It’s been over a year and my obsession with perfumes shows no sign of abating. Maybe I should just admit that I will be the crazy perfume lady when I am old. But hey, at least I will smell good 🙂
Of dreaming, dabbling and daring... 