Am I?

I’m feeling old – mentally and physically (in terms of looks). Honestly. There’s a gradual shift in my life priorities and outlook, and this is beginning to take a toll on my looks. I might even be experiencing a receeding hairline. At least that’s what I think.

Or I could be feeling drained due to a change in my lifestyle habits – having to wake up at 7.30am every weekday, rush to catch the bus at 8.10am and be in the office by 8.55am. The dark circles around my eyes are showing. Damn.

People used to tell me that I looked younger. But now? People who are seeing me for the first time think I’m 27. Darn. I need better skin care products.

What exactly is happening? I don’t know. I’m questioning. I’m running. I’m panting. Heck. What does it mean to be alive?

It was just a while ago that I decided to just read through friends’ blogs for some updates and ‘tada’! I’ve convicted myself of negligence and guilt. Not sure how long I’ve been missing in action or how long I’ve been running away from my duty as a friend (to be there for a friend when they are down), and it doesn’t feel good.

I’ve been questioning.

Am I a workaholic? Yes.

Am I neglecting all other important things in life? Yes.

Am I guilty of not living my life to its fullest? Yes.

Would I be happier if I’m working as a waitress or as a part-timer but receive a whole lot lesser pay? Most probably yes.

Would I be willing to trade my current position and pay for that possibility of happiness? No. Not quite. I admit. I’m still materialistic. I’m still greedy. I want the best of both.

But could you blame me? Which path would you choose if you were me?

I’m pondering. I’m stuck. I’m still digressing.

I’m guilty. I’m sick. I reek of sins.

Guilty of not been able to communicate with my family the way I wish I would.

Tearful of how hard I can be on myself (and sometimes on others too).

Regretful of the things that I’ve done which I know I shouldn’t have.

Sinful of my endless pursue for monetary and materialistic possessions.
And last but not least, doubtful of my own existence.

Looking back at what I’ve accomplished (and what I’ve not), I realized that I need to go on a journey, into a peaceful foreign place, to rediscover myself from the inside-out rather than vice versa. I may even tender if my leave is not approved (a very high likelihood). I need to observe. I need to learn. I need to see myself in others rather than see what others think of me.

I crumble. I’m torn. Almost.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. It’s senseless. For others to define who you are and what you are based on the work. True. First impression counts. But for that to summarize the very importance of your existence? It sucks. Believe me. I’ve been there. Done that. It’s degrading. It’s mean. It gets personal sometimes.

I’m not even sure that I like who I am now, or what I’ve done, or what I’m doing, or how I’m doing and whom I’m doing to.

I’m blind. I’m deaf. I’m self-depriving.
I’m blind to what’s around me.
I’m deaf to my very own voice.
I’m mean to myself (and to others).

Stop. Think. Start.

When will that happen? I’m pinning for the next sakura season.