We had a housewarming at M's new house the other day. I got her a cute terrarium. We ate nasi ambeng and chatted, and seeing as how we were nearing the year end, M threw out the annual, "
So what have you achieved this year and what are your plans next year" question. And I responded with my usual, "
You are such a teacher." (She says I say that every time, haha.)
Later in the day M claimed we ignored her question, and remarked, "I especially want to hear S, cause I'm sure she has like a 10-year-plan." Which literally made my jaw drop. I couldn't refrain from saying in the moment, "That is a complete misreading of my character! I do not live that way at all."
Not that it is bad necessarily to have a 10-year plan, not at all of course! In fact, M always has this lofty image of me (I don't know how she sustains it) and thinks someone like me must be super driven and lay out a checklist for every stage of my life ahead of time, or something.
No? no, no, no?
I wish I was some semblance of a person with a practical checklist. But I'm quite the opposite. M's annual reflection question gives me a sense of anxiety, rather. I am impractical and whimsical, to a fault. I have lived life... a-flow (I just invented that word); though perhaps... I have learnt to direct my flow better. That I'm not utterly adrift, but flowing along a current, somewhat. This is how I've lived. And I think people are stunned that I'm this sort of person, seeing as how I'm an actual clinician and maybe the image of a typical clinician isn't... that. The way M remarked on this, reminds me of the times people said things to me like, "you must like studying" or "why did you choose a course that took so long?" When I hear such things, I get some sort of a brain shock, I think, because clearly... the way I have framed the world is entirely different from your questions.
I don't really know how to be 'practical' (whatever that truly means). I have just followed a sense... that I have attributed to the tuggings of my heart. It has served me well, in general. Well, that's not so much true as... I actually can't ignore the deeper tugging of my heart. If I try to push myself towards supposed practical things that my heart objects to, I feel like a dark cavern opens up inside me; it's a horrible, horrible feeling. So I don't. It's a no-go when my hearts says no. I honestly don't know if this is in fact still an immature process or I'm off-track or only teenagers think like this or whatever; I honestly don't.
I do know however that my heart and me are in such a good place now. We have loads more trust. Loads more love. And it's about the journeying together. I'm not going anywhere without heart. I've also learnt that she's way smarter than I think, and when she says something, I'm not ignoring her.
If this ends up being the last post of the year,
I've contributed my annual reflective piece, haven't I? heheh.
---
"It's my fault," Conor said. "I let her go. It's my fault."
It is not your fault, the monster said, its voice floating in the air around him like a breeze.
"It is."
You were merely wishing for the end of pain, the monster said. Your own pain. An end to how it isolated you. It is the most human wish of all.
"I didn't mean it," Conor said.
You did, the monster said, but you also did not.
Conor sniffed and looked up to its face, which was as big as a wall in front of him. "How can both be true?"
Because humans are complicated beasts, the monster said. How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch? How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour? How can an apothecary be evil-tempered but right-thinking? How can a person be wrong-thinking but good-hearted? How can invisible men make themselves more lonely by being seen?
"I don't know, " Conor shrugged, exhausted. "Your stories never made any sense to me."
The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day. You wanted her to go at the same time you were desperate for me to save her. Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.
"But how do you fight it?" Conor asked, his voice rough. "How do you fight all the different stuff inside?"
By speaking the truth, the monster said. As you spoke it just now.
