September

I’m sitting at Starbucks, having my first cup of coffee twenty minutes to five in the afternoon; it hasn’t been much of a pleasant day.

If I were to investigate in why it hasn’t been a great day other than the lack of caffeine until now, one thing to take into consideration is that I am a prospective exchange student, leaving to a university in Germany from old Vancouver in just a bit more than three weeks. Mixed feelings are all over the place.
I’ve been in school since forever, and I have never stopped. Every September might have been dreadful, but it was always routine. However painful, the dreadfulness eventually vanished and then we, as students, realized that months were just passing by, and there went another school year. This September though, I continued on my summer by sleeping in till ten in the morning while all my friends return to school, because fall semester starts in late October in Germany. I am in a place where I have time, but I don’t really have time—with no job, no school, I am turning my activeness into waiting, waiting for October to come, when I travel to the country where I will be spending my third year university in. It certainly feels strange, this limbo, pending period. I discovered that I am not even able to acquire a pass for local transit from my home university because I am no longer “registered.”
Sitting here, watching high school girls and boys in their backpacks walking and chatting, September seems not so bad after all. They look awfully young and fresh, I think I can sense jealousy oozing out of my eyes. Seeing younger people only makes you reflect upon your own age, that was when I remembered that I’m already third year into undergrad.

Where has the time gone?

This summer in particular, felt extremely unproductive, and hazy in remembrance. There is this question that friends ask each other when they meet up: “What have you been up to these days.” Nowadays, this question appeals to me to be more dreadful than when-September-come. In this limbo period, when I am pending for my life to begin again in Germany once October comes, I witness many friends not only returning to school, but exceeding their normal activities as to participating in multiple jobs and volunteer works. I believe that is where the difference between university and high school students lies: when adults go back to school, time is a precious matter and we know that to our dear hearts. It is no longer just about picking out a new backpack, new stationary, and a new locker, but about how to utilize this time as a new beginning; to change old habits into improvements, to extend our network by reaching out and meeting more people, knowing the fact that there is always someone out there, even just within one university or college, who is more successful than ourselves, and from whom we can learn a ton from. Adult students see that time is ticking; there is not always another test to make up our marks or another meeting with the counsellor to figure out what we want to do in life. It is indeed interesting to be a bi-stander for once; be the one who is not returning to school just yet, and therefore able to witness my friends’ changes as September approaches. I only have three more weeks to do so, then it is time for me to hustle, for another year, but one that is much more challenging, different, and eye-opening.

Jericho Beach, Vancouver, B.C.

Recently as my friend and I were discussing and agreeing with each other about how time seemed to be passing by much more quickly this summer and yet it felt so helplessly unproductive, she suggested something very interesting: since technology is so advanced now, we all have our own cell phones, computers, and therefore different time indications, which obviously do not show exact congruence with every other electronic device in the time zone. Because of that, time is possibly passing by faster, literally.
I am sorry to disappoint you but I have no answer to if that is actually happening or not, however, what an intriguing thought it is. 



I hope time slows down a little so we can catch up to it.


I have no words to describe the change in my perspective of time’s preciousness in this past summer, I certainly hope however, that I will not forget how this change feels—then I can at least remember and be proud of how I spend this valuable little thing called time, even when it is going at a seemingly faster speed than ever.

Safety net

This old lady on the bus today looked like she’s done.
Done, with life. It almost seemed like everyday is a tasteless task that she is reluctant to do. I, silently sitting with my aviators, was imagining the reason being loss of her husband and perhaps lack of love from family and relatives. I almost felt cruel to be making all these things up in my head, though her facial expression screamed nothing else but renouncement.

It brought me to think about relationships and sacrifices. Dedicated mothers giving most of their lives to their children; their kids come before themselves. Blinded lovers surrounding their focus, thoughts, and time with significant others; some to a point where their lives are not of their own. Ambitious workers working all their energy and time away for money and satisfaction that don’t seem to ever be enough. Though these relationships take on different perspectives, the givers are common in that they are living for somebody or something else.

If our world ran on a system in which we were born designated either the role of the giver or the receiver, I think I would be more than willing to be a giver who spends all her life doing things purely for another person. In reality though, our intelligence is trending towards individualism, especially in feminism. We’ve been taught to put ourselves first, ultimately. As a girl, I’ve always been taught by my mother to have a job and a life in the future even after I get married, because it is unimaginably easy for a person to leave, to just “ditch”. When someone else is your literally everything, you have nothing if this someone left you, and that is no longer romantic.

So, what happens when we fall in love? My mother would say, you must have a passion in life, something that you can do regardless of what falls apart around you.
Is it true? Get yourself “insured” with something constant, something that doesn’t fade on you... Better safe than sorry, right?

Life patterns such as these are such a tease. One can have a person whom he is free to dedicate all his love to, but he still got to “back himself up”, just in case.

You just can’t have the cake, and eat it too.

She says, “It’s something for myself.”

Epiphany.

After hearing words that I thought would only come out of my mouth to my boyfriend but not the other way around, along with an accident, I finally found an exit for myself.

All this time, I’ve always perceived myself as a dependent girlfriend—the half that gives all the emotions, that keeps no secrets, and is more afraid of being left behind. Simultaneously, I’ve always known somewhere deep down, I hated being like that. I wished I was stronger, less attached, and even less emotional.

Until today, because I found an exit. By exit, I mean an outlet where there is a little crawl space, a sense of privacy, and most importantly, a big part of myself.

It’s my pride. My pride in myself as a person who is so perfect and especially thoughtful for him; the kind of pride which brings me, and I never realized or was honest with myself (I’m not sure which), such high level of difficulty to admit it when I’m wrong, when I make mistakes. Back when I was young and when I told lies, I was the kind of kid who would lie and lie to cover previous lies, until I got completely busted. It wasn’t fully due to the consequences, but more because I didn’t want to be the wrong one; I didn’t want to be the kid who lied and had to be punished. I didn’t like the title of mistaker, and I disliked it so much that till this day, I denied the very fact in my trait that I am a prideful person who does not like to admit my faulty behaviors nor mere mistakes.
I didn’t want to admit to him that I too, do hurtful things to him, and I didn’t believe that I would be too, one who makes him feel insecure like how the dependent girlfriend feels, whom I always saw myself in. I didn’t want to tell him about my accident due to my carelessness, because I believed I was better than that—making careless yet rational mistakes, even though mistakes are mundane and forgivable.
It is in my pride where I finally saw myself as myself, where I saw my flaws, where I was facing the relationship with myself. I had a moment to think, because this is so interesting; the fact that there is almost like a double-self in me. I had the time to create this image of myself being so great of a girlfriend who was simultaneously insecure and incredibly attached was because I never admitted the other side of me—prideful, no matter with what.

Well, it’s not a secret anymore, at least not with myself.