Sunday, August 6, 2017

I've been waiting for life to happen. Still am, I suppose.

I keep forgetting that 'life' has already happened—is happening—and the rivers of time flow freely on. 

It's not that I believed the clock had stopped (how could I? The clock ticks drearily on) but I did think this was a dream-clock, or a temporary clock whose ticking didn't really matter. So what if it goes on? Every day repeats itself, every emotion and thought comes full circle, and...

It's not that routine and predictability are bad. It's not that boredom is bad, or even unusual in this place and time. 

It's also not that I kept asking myself: "Is this all there is to life?" Because many days are hard and tiring and I wish it wasn't so. 

So where did this idea, this thought of "when will my life begin" come from? Don't tell me Mulan. Please don't tell me Mulan. 

Maybe it's from the idea I've been holding since I entered school and learned about exams. Thinking, once this hurdle is over, life will begin. I thought that in primary school every year. And then after all major exams. Once in university I realized I needed to slug out another five years before—finally—life could begin. 

Now that I'm nearing the end of those five years, it seems blatantly obvious that this mindset can follow you for your whole life. 

Will life begin once I graduate?—No, not yet. 

How about once I get a specialty?—No, and besides, there are exams every year. 

How about once I get married? Once I get a dog? (Maybe!) Once I have kids? 

Or once I get a house? 

Will it finally begin when I'm about to die?

I read once that if we don't choose what we want for our lives, then the world will choose for us. And what the world chooses has no consideration for what we want.

Recently I've been haunted by what the world wants to choose for me.

Or what the world has chosen for me.

Or about the definition of 'too late'. 

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