Lucky Strike

A little over three years since i last made contact with this page, this is where life brought me. Half a world away, quite literally, from my familiar zone. Living a stranger of a life and loving every little inch of it.

I have been hell-bent in wanting to try and resuscitate an old friend that is this account. But the three year hiatus just proved to be so long — I am rusty as much as i am impatient. It was two weeks ago that i had the most fruitful effort of having this account dusted, salvaged from the shed. I went through years worth of posts and one by one, turned them private, catching some sneaky glimpses along the way. It was a painstaking process, but nonetheless fun. Especially with the way it somewhat highlights (and underscores and punctuates), what i already know, though still have been trying to absorb for quite some time:

My, how life has dramatically changed…

(ctd, 3 months after)

The unceremoniously hidden posts would tell a sob story of how not too long ago, the person behind the account has been living quite a dissatisfied life. So generally unhappy without any particular reason. Feeling like the universe has conspired to deprive her of everything she thinks she deserves (to which, with eyes rolling i’d say now, ‘what an entitled bitch’). Invalidated by the sneaky thoughts of her unused potential. And with her time bomb ticking, desperately trying to make peace with the fact that that mediocre of a life is the farthest that she can ever go.

I have always labeled it quarter-life-crisis (qlc), but really, what the hell do i know? It’s insane how it continually dragged for years on end, almost as if it has turned into a way, rather than just a phase of living. And then, for some reason and rather anti-climactic, it just went away one day, as stealthily as it came. So i don’t know, maybe that crisis shit, after all is really just a phase?

I really wish i could impart some lessons on how i beat the dreaded qlc, but doing so would just be phony of me. Because first of all, spoiler alert, i am not a hundred percent without those crazy thoughts. In fact, i experienced a definite surge some time one and a half years ago, which basically what has brought me to where i physically am right now — but i’m saving that story for the another post! Second of all, in all modesty, i think, i just got lucky. What with the way i seemed to suddenly just stopped giving a fuck about things i don’t and can’t have, no matter how strongly i feel i (worked for it and therefore) deserve it. I just woke up one day no longer fearing the number 30 like it’s some sort of malignant disease. How i just like won the lottery for a laser surgery that cleared my vision and helped me see how i have more than enough of the only things that matter in my life.

If any, i attribute it to inherent maturity. Inherent being the operative word because I truly believe it is bound to happen as naturally as the time simply passing by. Cognizant of others who might be in similar situation but can’t find an out, i mean to say, i just got lucky i paced better, but trust my gut, you’ll get there, bud.

Last year, i came across Mark Manson’s book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, at first, hopeful that it would serve its self-help purpose. But i realized, as an afterthought and like some sort of epiphany, i am already (sort of) there. That’s what the fuck happened to me, maybe — some parts of it, at the very least. Reading it was like waking up clueless in the recovery room, meeting the doctor that fixed me while my vitals are out for pretty much a life-threateningly long time. And i could just hug him for that.

Now, this circles me back to the point i stressed early on, about how life has changed for me. For some reason, along with that shift of mindset, came some exponential changes in the tangible aspects of my life as well. It can be argued that those two things are not directly correlated but i have always believed that they are somehow linked — one thing definitely has got to do with another.

A few years back, i got a job that elevated (along with my pride) my corporate status and financial freedom. A role that, no-shit, significantly changed me professionally and personally (my resignation letter did not lie).

That was basically the key that led me to securing a mortgage for my first real estate property. We moved out of the nest where I and even my mother was born and raised. Many the nights, in the new home, i would be left alone downstairs, wondering in silence how the girl from a dilapidated house in Sampaloc, was able to pull that stunt off…

A year later i bought our family car. Watching my father drive along the freeway uttering, who would have thought he will be able to wheel like that, only for the first time, at that ungodly age?…

Currently, I am typing these thoughts inside the room of my humble apartment, situated in a foreign faraway country where i currently work for a living while simultaneously basking in the island life — a picture that only existed within the confines of my dream journal, for a very long time.

Indeed, it was far from the person who was once in control of this very page. Writing about sobbing alone and uncontrollably inside the church, the morning of her birthday many moons ago.

Here’s to many more of those lucky strikes 🍻