“Ms. Noemi, where is the library?” I asked my colleague
during my second week in my new job. Ms. Noemi was one of the few who welcomed
me warmly in the agency where I am currently connected with.
“We do not have a library here.” She said.
“How about a music room?” I asked. You know what? She laughed
so hard and asked me the reason why I was asking those kinds of questions. She
said that she found me weird and cute. LOL.
Why did I ask those questions? Because to be honest, I am
longing for privacy and I am having a terrible time adjusting in my new
life/working environment. Sometimes, I find myself suffocated and intoxicated with almost every thing inside the agency. Maybe because I got used to dealing with
foreigners. The differences between cultures are quite shocking to me.
(Is it the right term?) I am skeptic towards everything.
Depression Update:
Honestly, I am still depressed. There are still times that
extreme sadness comes to me. I still cry and feel so WORTHLESS; that I am
not good enough; that I still have a lot of things to do to improve
myself.
Self Confidence is a very rare and expensive commodity for me. If I am confident at this moment, I will become extremely anxious in just a
snap of your fingers. The way fear enters my mind is quite bewildering. There are times that I still think about death, but I am doing my best to alleviate my attention to something else.
When I was in graduate school, I was confident every time I
present a case in front of the class. However, after I graduated, it seems like
my skills are slowly diminishing. After I shifted from teaching to public
service, I feel like my knowledge is slowly being eating up by the passage of
time and I HATE IT. I hate this.
Sometimes, my mind will be full of things which usually cause me to shut down; stare blankly ahead... to... to... stay in a corner and turn off all my five senses. I cannot breathe, my hands will move on their own to write the things being whispered my the many voices inside my head. Often, I am confused because I hear them simultaneously and I don't know whom to listen first. I have tons of notebooks where I write my collections of words about life... love... and death...
I am guilty of constantly proving to everyone that I am the one who did the things I did. My words, arts, compositions... why? Because the being branded "FAKE" is very... painful. Their words created a massive hole in my identity and I don't know how I am going to hide it...
AM I LOOKING FOR LOVE?
I had a deep conversation with my mother last week. We talked
about my depression and she told me that maybe LOVE is the remedy.
But NO… I told her. Love and relationship are not something I
desire at the moment. I am looking for something… for things that I can use to
fill in every gap in my life and every aperture of my identity.
Ever since I turned 18, I have always felt the emptiness
deep inside me. It’s like there’s a hole that I must fill in. A missing part.
Is it because I wasn’t able to study Foreign Language? Is it
because of the bullying trauma? Is it because of the rejection I received from
the first man I’ve ever liked? Or is it because I am overly conscious and a perfectionist that I easily succumb to darkness to avoid painful things?
One thing I’ve learned from what I’ve been thru is that
every time I avoid pain… I also avoid chances to learn more things about
life… chances to define what true happiness is.
Of course. I want to fall in love. Who doesn’t? I am a woman
and as time passes by I am starting to long for companionship. However, if I am going to fall
in love, I want to fall in love on my own. I am grateful to my friends who want
to set me up to meet someone, but no. I prefer to fall in love… naturally
without the intervention of other people. I want it to happen inside a bookshop, a café?
Or maybe while listening to indie music… I want to meet someone who will be able
to accept and embrace everything about me. Besides, I still have feelings for a
specific man, who is now unfortunately… gone.
Others even suggested that I should stop reading and go out
more. But you see, reading is a part of me. If I am going to stop, it will be
like cutting a part of my body. I CANNOT.
I have a lot of things that I want to do; to achieve; to
see; to experience. This is one of the disadvantages of being a “late bloomer”.
Did I make sense? See, my mind is still in disarray.
Grammar wrongings? Please correct me.
Have a good night.
