I’ve done this before. This is not something of a novelty to me. I know what to expect, what to do if things go astray. Moving out is not that difficult.
Four years ago I moved out of my family home to live near my campus for convenience. Now I’m moving out of my family home again, doing the same thing. But is it for the right reasons?
Divulging my intention to move out again to my parents was one heck of a challenge, because I had no convincing and legitimate reason to do so. The drive from home to my office? Half an hour max. The drive to the city centre? About the same. The drive to meet my new boyfriend? Likewise. So what gives rise to the need to move out?
Initially I was met with disapprovals and reprimands. They were reluctant to let me go. My parents feared that I wouldn’t be able to manage my finances and that I would live too hedonistic of a lifestyle without their close scrutiny. Well they are not wrong lmao particularly when it comes to the latter. And that’s one reality, in my opinion, that parents have to face.
I’m not too devout of a Muslim, nor am I non-practicing, but I do have conscience; sound enough to tell apart what is wrong and what is right. That’s something that parents often overlook in their child. As I grow older (rightly so, I’m 24 now), I ought to have the liberty to make my own decisions because I have perfect mental capacity to do so. I mean, come on, I obtained a driver’s licence SEVEN years ago, have now GRADUATED with a Law degree and am now EMPLOYED. All those are big girl stuff. So why is it so hard to let me do this other big girl thing in the form of moving out?
Saying all of the above verbally to my parents was not as easy haha. So when I was sitting down on the sofa facing both of my parents who were looking at me with questioning looks, I crumbled and cried. OUT LOUD. I stumbled on my words, chest heaving from my sobs, voice did not come out good at all. I cried lots and lots of inexplicable tears.
That was when my parents halted their stern interrogation and turned soft on me. “Kenapa sebenarnya, Aisya?”
I realised then that what I wanted was not to get away from them. In fact I want to grow old and watch them grow old too. We all don’t live forever. But what I truly want was a sense of independence. My antidepressant-addled self wants so badly to be independent and not have people hover over me so as to ensure that I’m not harmed. Ever since my hospitalisation two years ago, I’ve been seen as a fragile, vulnerable being who must be protected at all costs.
It’s suffocating, to say the least. I want to break free and prove that I’m a functional human, just like all of you reading this.
My parents listened as I rambled on. I swore by then I could see tears in their eyes too. Their stoic baby daughter breaking down? That’s their braking point. I hated that they were tearing up as well. I wanted a neutral, levelheaded discussion so that I could reason with them calmly. But when it comes to family, you can’t help but be emotional, can you? So an idea came to mind.
I brought them to therapy with me a week later.
My longtime therapist, Mr Leng mediated the discussion between my parents and I, and boy was the whole session so much better than the emotional outbreak back at home. It was enlightening. It turns out that I have been misreading my parents’ intention. They are just genuinely fearing for my safety. They do trust me. It’s the strangers around me that they don’t trust. In my dad’s words, “My daughter comes home late at night and you know there’s a bunch of fuckers out there wanting to take advantage of her”. My mum simply nodded along. They are not overprotective. They are scared for me.
Mr Leng also pointed out the generational gap between my parents and I, to which my parents acknowledged. “We’ve been young before too”, said my dad. Jokes about my dad’s younger days of attending Def Leppard concerts were thrown in. It’s a testament to the fact that my parents are not hindering me from living my life. I felt as if a hefty weight has been lifted off my back. I felt like I could fly.
I’m not sure if my parents and yours share the same mentality, but one thing I learnt for sure; we stand on different grounds but see the same moon. No matter how much we differ, there’s always a way to work everything out and see eye to eye. Don’t worry about it too much.
To my parents, I love the both of you. I love my siblings too. All four of them. I can take care of myself. Worrying is inevitable, it’s second nature as parents but don’t worry too much. I love you, I love you, I love you.
“See you tomorrow”.
Such simple words that plant seeds of excitement and hopefulness within us.
I’ve evolved. I used to dread the ensuing days, my depression injected little to no optimism into my system to look forward to what is waiting for me. But now I open my eyes wide to view whatever films I would curate as I trudge through the rough terrain of my life.
I don’t know who he is. But a “See you tomorrow” to a first meeting makes you wonder and fantasise about how that person would turn out to be. First meetings are like job interviews, barely peeking through the facade of professionalism and the desire to appear likeable to the other person.
But when a first meeting ends up exceeding your innocently-placed high expectations, you want more. And it’s a feeling, to me, of awful sanguineness and the desire for more time spent with the other.
You’re not already in love, but you’re definitely infatuated and you’re swelling with the wonderful emotions of admiration and curiosity as to what’s coming next. You wonder whether it is platonic or romantic, whether you’re compatible or will clash in endless arguments along the way.
You wonder and wonder, get curiouser and curiouser. It’s so innocent.
Wow, what a long description about having a crush.
“Do you not feel even an ounce of remorse for what you did?”
Sat in the chair in the room with my therapist, I deliberated for a good 10 seconds before answering,
“No”.
But 10 seconds later, tears welled up in my eyes. And then, they drenched my cheeks. Your body always betrays you.
Of course I felt remorseful, I’m human. Dysfunctional, but not devoid of conscience. Betrayal after betrayal and I only have myself to point my finger at.
It was when my therapist asked me “So who are you friends with now?” to which I knew no answers to, that I realised that my bouts of misdemeanour has turned me into somewhat of a lone ranger. I scoffed, half with disbelief and half with pride.
“I’m a lone ranger now, Mr Leng. I like it. I don’t need friends to function”.
My therapist looked at me gently and said, “Evolution took place over many years but one thing remained the same - humans NEED one another to live”.
Right.
____________________________________
I did horrible things, of which I am not proud. So much hurt was caused by me and consequently I decided to vacate the nest that had kept me safe and warm for so long, and flew into a world full of uncertainty and loneliness. Lord it was much too bitter to handle, but just like your sense of smell, it adapts and grows accustomed to unpleasant stenches after a while and you barely notice it anymore.
To paint a better picture for you, let me establish the fact that for 22 years, I was a baby. Coddled, constantly attended to, protected. By whom? Family, friends, boyfriend. I was never left alone for longer than necessary. Before I had a car, I hitched rides and never had to pay for petrol. I cried and had someone’s hands wipe the tears for me. I rode Grab cars and had someone on the other end of the phone call to accompany me so as to ensure that the driver never harassed me. I plucked the dry bits of my lips and it upset my former partner so much because I “bled” when in fact it was just a little.
I was a baby.
When I left the nest, I felt as though I was forced to grow up way beyond my age. I was so lost, hence I made a few phone calls to a few trusted adults, badgering them for answers as to how the fuck I was supposed to live life without the guidance of my friends whom I depended on so much. Some of them chided me for my doings that led to such inopportune consequence, some of them were supportive and believed that I could do it because it was about time anyway. I'm 23, it's time to act like it.
On I went to learn about the art of being alone. In hindsight, it was not as difficult as I'd thought LMAO. I pride myself in my ability to be adaptable to difficult situations. But another thing I shall give credit to? My mental illness.
I have dermatillomania, which is a mental disorder that makes it absolutely irresistible for me to pick my skin til it bleeds and scars. I'm talking about hours of staying up late to do the deed. It sounds really far-fetched to those who are alien to mental disorders like this, but it's real. The first onset of it was when I was 11. It is one of the main things discussed in my weekly therapy sessions. I've been prescribed antipsychotic medications for it, like Risperidone and Aripiprazole, but they never worked.
Dermatillomania has very much to do with dissociation. I'm no psychologist, but from what I understand it is the feeling of having an outer body experience, as if watching yourself from a third person's point of view. And really, when I'm having one of those episodes, I simply never realise that I'm harming myself.
The downside is the obvious, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing to myself. The upside is, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing to myself. Haha. I'm oblivious and ignorant. And the ignorance? It's always bliss for me, in this case.
When I lost friends, my mind protected me from arriving to a realisation that I indeed lost friends. I felt like it never even happened. I felt as if I was shielded from the harsh reality that I created myself. My dissociation created tyre barriers around my whole being that absorbed the harshest impact that came my way.
The amount of time I cried over having to leave the nest? Only once. And even then I couldn't even understand why I cried. Throughout the entire process, I blamed myself for being devoid of emotions as I am the type to usually put myself through emotional pain as much as possible so that I feel milked out by the end of the process, and never look back again. But this dissociation thing? It only prolongs the grieving process and I can't move on. Dare I say that the people who were once present in my life make their appearance in my sleep at least once a week and I would wake up feeling disoriented and sombre.
Every time that happens, though, I would dust myself off the ground and go on about my day with my head held up even higher. Is it pride? No. It's strength and independence.
Nevertheless, I am happy with how things are panning out. I'm happy with my progress in growing up into a responsible adult. I seek my own counsel instead of complain about things that make me disheartened. In fact I never complain about anything anymore. I take things in stride and learn from my (repeated) mistakes, and I promise myself to wake up tomorrow as a better person than today.
My therapist is right. Through evolution, through centuries, it has been proven over and over again that human beings need each other. But one has to learn to be on their own as well, for it's me against the world. Me alone.
I'm not scared to be alone anymore.
It wasn't a surprise though, crying feels like a routine without which my day would be as though it's too good to be true.
First case in point - I'm fresh from sitting for my Law & Economics paper. Was it hard? Yes. Do I hope that I pass? Not really. I'll just wait and see. Ahaaa. You see?
I'll just...not beat around the bush and drop all formalities in which the standard procedure is to apologise for not posting anything in the longest time. This blog is going to be forsaken again to collect dust after today anyway. Kannnn? Ahhh so I reckon a hello and a good day would suffice.
Hello and good day.
I am finally penning down thoughts here after a seemingly perpetual month of hesitation. The intention to actually write something up manifested sooooo long ago but it was put off and never executed because I "hesitated". I use sugarcoated words so I can hold myself out in such a way that makes me look more favourable to others than I really am. It's quite like every time I say I enjoy my own company when I actually have a social expiry after a couple of hours of human interaction. I say that I've got an eptitude for emotional intelligence when I'm just so annoyingly sensitive. I say I don't fancy finding faults in others when in truth, I simply lack argumentative skills. Now I call it hesitation instead of being downright lazy. In truth I was just lazy.
Anyway, I think I've long established that I have the worst case of commitment issues when it comes to things that don't involve my romantic relationship and my friendships. The fact that I appear on my own blog only once a year is a testament to it. Every single time it necessitates me having to bring you lot up to speed with how my life is currently, if you can be bothered. So here goes.
How do I do this hahahhahhahshhg. Okay. Substantially, I'm still Aisya. I still live in Shah Alam. I still have 4 other siblings, my parents didn't go and create another product during the past year. I'm still attached to the same handsome pesky man. I still read law and surprisingly it hasn't annihilated me yet. I still can’t reverse park even though I have to get my driving licence upgraded by the end of this month. So what could be news to you?
Well, I am now pursuing Law at one of the most slagged off universities in the country. Grrr so unfair. Contrary to popular belief, many of us aren't slow learners. Contrary to popular beliefs as well, the professional courses offered at my uni are in fact top notch. Those who are so proud and self-righteous and unbearably obstinate in their opinions can keep talking as if I won't be able to make myself marketable once I graduate. Geeee. (Omg I keep gettimg sidetracked).
I'm currently in the second semester of my degree programme. Second out of eight semesters. Every single day as I step foot in my faculty, I'm humbly reminded that the profession I'm venturing into is no child's play. Most of the time I'm clueless as to what I'm doing and I don't know when I'll know what I'm doing. Sometimes it makes me think that I'm wasting my opportunity and that I'm a lot less ambitious than my course mates whom I reckon are much more deserving to be reading law. Thankfully, though, I'm constantly upbraided and told by those around me that I shall maintain a positive outlook and put more faith in myself and my environment so as to be able to succeed. Keep me in your prayers, you lot. Making it past 3.0 CGPA was already a tight squeeze last semester. Ggwp.
One more thing that probably needs addressing, since I do have concerned (nosy) people ask me this at least on a weekly basis, is the friends that I choose to be with. I am one to hold so much sentimental value to those I've made many memories with. I love my friends and I will never stop loving and looking out for them. However we're studying in university and circumstances would inevitably propel you into new friendships and ambience. Sometimes you even look left, right, high and low to find no friends to assist you, so you're left to your own devices and therefore you haven't got anyone but yourself to trust. This is where my man, a professional lone wolf with a few years' experience under his belt, told me that doing things alone is part of a very valuable learning process. Anyhow, new circles of friends and experiences of being alone really do give me a breath of fresh air. Teaches me to become more self-sufficient. My longtime friends, though, I still cherish and treasure and keep them close to my heart. Nothing wrong with some room for growth.
Soooo this is the point at which I get inexplicably lazy to talk my readers through everything and simply let my pictures do the honour instead. Basically what has panned out in my life during my radio silence heheh. Savour them.
Lovelovelove,
-A-
