Same but different

Yesterday, I:

Drove to the office,
Parked at my parking lot,
Took the stairs 4 floors up to the lobby,
Took the lift to the 6th floor,
Went into my office room,
Sat down in my chair,
Switched on my computer,
Read the newspapers in my office,
Did some work,
Sent some emails,
Went for lunch with my secretary,
Completed my work,
Had drinks on the 7th floor,
Said goodbye to my colleagues, 
Sat down in my chair,
Switched off my computer,
Got up from my chair,
Looked out my office window,
Exited my office and closed the door,
Took the lift to the lobby,
Took the stairs 4 floors down to my car,
Drove home from the office,

For the last time. 

There is no room for doubt

I underwent a medical examination the other day. I have this recurring stomach problem, which takes place off and on for 2 years now, resulting in almost perpetual bloating. My mistake is telling people about it. The reason I told people about it is I am ‘manja’ and just wanted some love and attention. Instead, they kept telling me to get it checked. I did go to 2 doctors and both said there was nothing wrong. But the problem persisted. They said I should see a specialist. Against my better judgment, I did.

I hate doctors, hospitals, medicine, and anything remotely related to these. It’s almost primitive and instinctive because as far as I can remember, I’ve always hated it. And after what I went through, I decided I will never go back again, not unless a limb is about to fall off or something as serious as that.

First, I did a blood test. That’s a needle through my vein on my arm. Then I did a gastroscope. That’s a needle through my vein on the back of my hand for the sedative, then a tube down my throat to my stomach. I had sore throat for the rest of the day. Then I did an ultra sound. That was physically painless but emotionally tortuous because the doctor asked me whether this was my first time, and while I answered ‘yes’ aloud, internally I answered ‘…and probably my last time; I don’t think I’m having any children.’ And when he pointed out on the screen my ovaries and my womb, internally I was thinking ‘…which will never be used! I will die as I came, not using all that was given to me.’ And the only reason why I didn’t cry on the examination table was because I was worried the doctor would send me to the psychiatric unit next and I had just about enough of hospitals and doctors and medical instruments (instruments of torture if you ask me) by then.

After all that, the verdict was that there was absolutely nothing wrong. The doctor prescribed some medications. So I really didn’t have to go for a checkup in the first place. This is my problem. I always listen to other people and start doubting my own convictions. I should have more faith in my own body, in myself. People, no matter how good their intentions are, or no matter how much they think they know me, are not me. Surely I should know myself best. And I do. But I also doubt. That has to change.  

I believe

This is why I believe in God.

I asked God for a sign that I am doing the right thing, whether I should just abandon all my plans or go ahead the best way I can. And then, as I was cruising down the Federal Highway I was channel surfing the radio, and on Lite FM, Whitney Houston’s ‘Greatest Love of All’ came on and it was just what I needed to hear at that time.

“...

Everybody's searching for a hero

People need someone to look up to 

I never found anyone who fulfilled my needs (Appa came close)

A lonely place to be

And so I learned to depend on me

...

I decided long ago, never to walk in anyone's shadows

If I fail, if I succeed

At least I'll live as I believe

No matter what they take from me

They can't take away my dignity

Because the greatest love of all

Is happening to me

I found the greatest love of all

Inside of me

The greatest love of all

Is easy to achieve

Learning to love yourself

It is the greatest love of all

...

And if, by chance, that special place

That you've been dreaming of

Leads you to a lonely place

Find your strength in love.” (emphasis added)

I choose to believe God was sending me a message, in answer to my prayers. 

Is it me?

Sometimes I seriously wonder whether it's me. Do I go looking for my own problems? Do I subconsciously invite negative energy into my life? Do I like being pessimistic? 

Of course, the main problem is that I think too much. Sometimes it is what it is. But that's never enough for me. I need to know the why, the how come, the if it had been someone else other than me, would they be treated in the same way, the would I have reacted in the same way, etc. Sometimes there are no explanations. People are mean. People are selfish. People don't care. But my brain will not accept that. There always has to be a reason, an explanation.

I am hardest on myself. When something bad happens, inevitably I blame myself. I should've been smarter, I should've thought of that, I should've done this, I should've done that. I really think it's time to give myself a break. Sometimes the universe is just out to get you for no apparent reason. Everything you plan goes out the window, disintegrates into a million pieces. It appears to me that this happens to me more often than any other person I know. Nothing goes according to plan. 

What do I do? I really don't know. I don't have all the answers. Maybe it is me after all. I am, therefore I am. Whatever that means. 

Questions

Lately I have been asking myself the same question again and again, and I cannot find an answer. That question is, why is what I have now not enough?

Sure, we must, or should, aspire to greater things in life, or have ambitions or dreams or wishes to keep us going. But compared to a lot of people, I have accomplished a lot of things that many people will never have. In fact, I often feel that I have surpassed even my own expectations.

So then, why is all of this not enough? Why can’t I be happy with what I have now, and with what I have achieved? A recurring answer at the back of my mind says because I know I am capable of so much more. Perhaps. But do I really need to travel half way around to world to prove to myself that I am capable of so much more?

And what happens if I am still restless after I come back? Still unfulfilled, still searching for that one thing, when I myself know not what that one thing is? Then what?

Path less trodden

Life as I know it is about to drastically change! I cannot know now whether for good or for bad, but it's the path I have chosen. The path less trodden. 

Proclamation

If I ever end up becoming a psychopath or a sociopath (if I am not already one) let it be known that it is a result of nurture, not nature.