As they say, the days are long but the years are short. I almost let a whole year pass by without writing in my digital journal. I’ve been busy with work, some traveling and pursuing other creative endeavors that I unfortunately neglected this account. But I’m back now to share what would be my only entry of the year.

Conversations, the deeply personal ones, didn’t frequent my life this year. As much as I like having those, it doesn’t happen just because I want to. There has to be a trigger. The right time to discuss it. And more importantly, the right people to discuss it with. But of the very few ones I had, this conversation I had with my closest friends recently is instantly the most honest and revealing of all.

Last year, I turned 30. It was a milestone. But to people who still subscribe to the traditional ways, it is a deadline. A deadline to find someone to spend the rest of your lives with. Or to start a family. Or to get a house. Whatever they think you lack, you should have had by 30. Whatever ‘defect’ or ‘problem’ you have, should have fixed and dealt with by then.

I had this conversation with people my age. All early thirties. All accomplished in our own ways. One of them isn’t ready to have kids despite being in a stable marriage because of the potential she still wants to realize. Another friend doesn’t want to have kids, but wants to get married which can prove to be a deal-breaker in many, if not most relationships. And me, and this was the first time this thought escaped my mouth after many years of keeping it in my head, only plan on having kids but not thinking of marriage.

It surprised me how a dinner escalated into this too-honest-it’s-scary moment, but I was very invested in every minute of it. We might have different conflicts in life, but to have people who I can be honest with and be surrounded by the same people who can lay their cards on me gave me a feeling of freedom and belongingness. No one was judged. No one was criticized. Just listening ears and an unspoken language of support.

I’ve had numerous beautiful experiences this year, but this one easily stands out. A meaningful and truthful talk. Apparently, all you have to do is to let it out and suddenly things don’t feel as heavy anymore.

Exactly one month have passed since I breached the ‘dreaded’ 30 mark. If I’m being completely honest, I feel like I spent half of my 29th year on Earth fearing the uncertainties and pressures that come with hitting the big 3-0. It’s not just about getting older. It’s more of the expectations that come with it. I know it’s 2022 and that we should just live the way we want to. But truth is, sometimes it’s easier said than done. It gets a little bit complicated when you’re surrounded with people who seem to always be guided by the still surprisingly popular ‘book of life.’ You know what I mean. The same people who subscribe to the idea that by 30, you should have everything planned and figured out. That by 30, you should have a stable job, a house, and your own little family. And if you only successfully crossed out two out of these three items, then what exactly are you doing with your life?

I’ve browsed through different articles, blog posts and podcasts that discussed what to do before one turns 30. What preparations one should take before you bid your twenties goodbye. While they are entertaining, I didn’t really seem to benefit from their advice and wisdom. I guess I’m just stubborn. Maybe I’m just not their target audience. Or maybe, and this one surprisingly excites me, I just want to do it my way. Yes, I will take charge and define what 30 means and what I should be doing in this new stage of my life.

Many things in life seem to depend on how you make it. And I think that turning and being 30 is not an exemption. Now that I’m writing about it, I just got reminded that I somehow lived my 20s in my own terms too. Often you’ll be told to just have fun in your 20s. Love fearlessly. Explore incessantly. Enjoy limitlessly. While my peers are jumping from one relationship to another or chasing new trends and technologies, I pretty much lived a life of a Gen X. I’ve got employed more times than I changed my car or even my phone. I traveled, yes, but had to put a break on all of it when I failed to fulfill my self-promise of buying a house at 25 (I eventually got one after I turned 26). I was living life not as a young adult, but as an actual adult. And while I might have missed out on some fun, I still believe that my youth was not exactly wasted.

Given how I chose to live my 20s, some friends might think that I’ve got it all planned out already. That everything is in place and under control. While that may be partly true, I still have so much figuring out to do. My 30th year is still very much a work in progress. It still scares me from time time, especially when I look at other people my age and how they just wonderfully followed and fitted well in this chapter of the ‘book of life.’ But I know I’m not other people. I can’t wear a shoe that doesn’t fit. And frankly, I’d rather buy myself my own pair as I navigate through this new decade.

In June 17, 2015, I started working in the US as a nurse in a rehabilitation facility. I remember telling the administrators during our orientation that I wanted to work there as nurse because I wanted to do something meaningful with my life. I was 22 then, a millennial that felt that I have so much to offer the world. All I knew then was that if I was given the opportunity to take care of sick people, I will be able to do my part for the society. For the community. For the humanity. Only, I didn’t know it wasn’t that simple.

Nursing is a very demanding job. And unfortunately, I don’t remember any nursing book from my university days that explicitly stated that. Unlike most jobs, it doesn’t have clear boundaries. You’re never only a nurse. To say “that’s not part of my job” will not only come off as a mean and rude remark (even if it’s true), but you’ll also risk tarnishing the noble image of the profession. Your job is far from over even after you’ve finished passing the medications and following all of the doctor’s orders. You’re also a housekeeper, a teacher, a mechanic, a babysitter, a security guard. You become whatever the situation asks of you. And doing that for almost a decade now, it started to take a toll on me.

Just last March, after so much contemplating, I switched jobs and started working for a different hospital. I was craving for a fresh start. To address the need to work smarter. I was hoping that the nursing fatigue I was experiencing will magically disappear once I change environments. But I was wrong. The fatigue lingered longer than I hoped for. It also didn’t help that a self-imposed pressure started building up. Because I wanted so bad to make sure that the people who helped me get this new job won’t be let down, I tried to prove to them that they did the right thing hiring me. I was forcing myself to deliver, and to deliver well because I am being paid more.

Day to day, despite all my worries, I soldiered on and reported to work and did what needed to get done. I was just trying to survive each shift. The farthest thing in my mind is for someone, a patient or their family, to notice and acknowledge my work. So you can just imagine my surprise when I learned that my patients had expressed their desires to nominate me for a DAISY Award. DAISY is an award especially created by a non-profit foundation to recognize exceptional nurses all over the world. Think Oscars or Grammys, but for nursing.

I have been officially nominated for one in the first quarter of 2018, from my previous job. While I ultimately end up not winning, it was enough reminder that I was doing good. It remained to be my only DAISY nomination for a long time. To be honest, sometimes I would wonder if I’ll ever win a DAISY before I retire from nursing. I just feel like if I’ll spend the rest of my working life as a nurse, I would want something to show for it. A proof that somehow, at one point in my career, I did something impactful to merit such recognition. After all, I pursued this profession in the US with the intention of doing something meaningful with my life.

As much as I wanted to get the recognition, I also know that I’m too new in the hospital. Our unit alone is filled with amazing veteran registered nurses, some of them DAISY honorees as well. So while the chances of winning is slim, I still think that just like four years ago, a nomination is affirmation enough. It’s all the boost I need to keep pushing through.

But life had other plans. It was a busy Thursday afternoon at work when my manager randomly asked if I’ve had my lunch break yet. Then a co-worker had let me in on a secret that our best CNA in the unit is going to receive an award later. It didn’t take long before we all received a broadcast instructing that we’ll be having a huddle in the nurses station. I excitedly went because I wanted to witness our CNA win an award she totally deserves. Everything was happening as planned, until the Chief Nurse Executive Officer announced that they will also be presenting a DAISY Award to a nurse in our unit. I instantly squashed the idea of winning. I’ve learned that the best way to handle losing is to not assume in the first place. But when she read the winning nomination, I recognized some phrases that a patient had previously told me. The CNEO then stretched her arm with her palm facing upward towards my direction and declared me as the winner. I cannot believe it was happening! I was in the verge of crying, but fought back tears because I wanted to clearly remember the moment as it happens.

The CNEO handed me the award and said her congratulations. I told her this award means so much to me and that I appreciate it very much. I also told them that it already feels like it was my birthday even though it’s still two days away. She got so surprised when my manager informed her that I’m one of the new nurses in the unit and that I’ve only been with them for three months. The CNEO then told me that I might have just set the record for winning a DAISY this quick and that she has a feeling that it won’t be my last. On my part, I’m just happy to take home an award I so highly regarded whether I made a record or not. Or even if it happens to be my first and last. It just makes me happy to think that I’ve achieved it before I turned 30 because I’m such a stickler for self-imposed deadlines (which is not always very healthy, I know). It also easily became the most meaningful and important birthday gift I’ve received this year.

A few days after that ceremony, I sent a message to the people who nominated me. I wanted them to know that I’m just as grateful to them as they are to me. Perhaps even more, as this is a recognition I’ll carry for the rest of my life as a nurse. It still amazes me how a simple thank you from a patient can add up and end up in such a beautiful moment. Immediately, my exhaustion and frustration evaporated and in place of it now is a newfound appreciation for all the things a nurse have to deal with just to get a patient feel and become better.

JustinBits is not dead. Severely stagnant maybe, but definitely not deceased. I have not written an entry for nine months because I have nothing to write about… Well, actually, that’s a lie. If I’m being 100 percent honest I’ve just been lazy. I know I can write about anything if I really have too. In fact, I have a to-write-about list in my Notes app that grows each time something dashes in my memory. But sometimes inspiration and motivation hits at the same time, strong enough to trigger the writer/story-teller in me.

A co-worker friend recently told me that she had come across my blog. How she ended up in my dusty, little online diary is not clear to me. I haven’t actively promoted it in months, so my best guess is that she probably stumbled on the link pasted in my IG bio. I should have just asked her so I’m not wondering like this, but thing is, I don’t feel comfortable talking about things I shared online in person. So when someone talks to me about a picture, video, or blog entry I posted online, I tend to cut-short the conversation by steering it to a different direction. Okay, back to the topic: She told me she read it and found it ‘very real.’ It’s a compliment that I’ve never received for my writing before. Plus she had nothing but good words for my work. Perhaps I found her feedback to be very encouraging and so since then, I’ve been thinking of a particular experience I’d enjoy sharing and writing about. Thankfully, it didn’t take me another nine months. Allow me take you back to the year 2003.

There I was. 11 years old and graduating elementary in half a year. Our Science teacher, Sir Herbert, who was tasked by the principal to conduct a search for the school’s representative for the poster-making contest gathered me and two other classmates after class to see who can best represent our school. I was over the moon by just being shortlisted as I’ve always wanted to join inter-school competitions. I was just never given the opportunity. I guess in this case, it helped that I’m known in our class as one of the more artistically-inclined students. I would draw more than I write. Actually, I would draw more than I would study.

If I remember it correctly, we were each given a Manila paper that was plastered in the blackboard. I’ve already forgotten what the title or theme was, but I recall holding on to my pentel pen like my life depended on it. I remember drawing a Philippine map though. Then we were each given ample time to explain our posters. I’m pretty confident that I aced it. And I wasn’t wrong. Sir Herbert picked me. That day, I went home happy and excited to tell the good news to my parents.

This is it! I’ve already earned the right to represent our public school to a district-wide competition. I consistently showed up to my teacher-turned-coach’s house on weekends without fail to practice drawing and coloring. He’ll throw me a topic and I’ll draw about it. It was all timed. There was pressure. But I was liking it. Maybe even enjoying it. I would go home with oil pastel smudged on my little hands and was already looking forward to our next session. As the day of the competition neared, I got a little scared, but it was the feeling of excitement that enveloped me.

On the day of the competition, we were picked up by a white L-300. The trip didn’t take long as it took place in a nearby Barangay. I started feeling my heart beat fast. We were given the schedule for the day. The poster-making contest was assigned a mid-afternoon slot and was divided in two parts. The drawing part and the explanation part. Slowly, I can feel my nerves catching up to me, but I have a contest to take care of so I tried to shake it off.

The time has come. Students started pouring in with their respective coaches. We were given a spot in the classroom to do our poster and the coaches were then asked to leave the room. That’s when I started freaking out internally. Maybe it was separation anxiety, but in 2003 that was an alien terminology to me. Again, I forgot what the theme was, but just like what I did in our elimination round in our school, I gripped my pencil and oil pastel tightly. Ideas came flowing through my mind smoothly. In my head, I have a clear picture of what I want my poster to be. But time was running out fast. I have to wrapped it up quickly. And before I knew it: “Ding dong! Time’s up!” announced one of the proctors. Pencils up! I stared at my work and almost immediately, my heart started to sink: My vision can be traced from the final output. But it’s not how I want my poster to look like. I drew a picture of Earth, with people and buildings, planes and birds lined up around it. It’s cute, but far from flawless. I knew right there and then that my drawing alone will not gonna make me win. I’ll need the will and arrogance of a defense attorney on the next round if I don’t want to end up last in the race.

After a short break, I found myself standing in front of the panel holding up my not-so-outstanding poster. I gathered all my confidence and decided to speak in English. One of the very few ways I’ll get an extra credit, I thought. I saw the coaches and their students peeping through slatted wooden windows. I didn’t pay much attention to them. I needed to convince the panel why I created this poster. I needed to justify my work.

During the panel’s deliberation, my classmates and I killed the time running and playing in the open grassy field. One by one our coaches would approach us to give us updates about the results. I saw Sir Herbert approaching so I met him halfway. He told me I did well and broke the news that I placed 6th. I’m not advancing to the Congressional District round. To be fair though, there were at least over a dozen kids in my contest. He indirectly acknowledged that my poster could be better by showing his amazement that I reached that far with that kind of output. He said the panel must be impressed by my explanation. I think so, too. But I also understood that it was a poster-making contest. Art itself is next to none. Art should speak for itself. All those explaining I did was just supplementary.

Looking back, I can say and finally admit now that I cracked under pressure during the drawing part. My posters from when I was practicing were miles better than my final poster. However, it thought me a valuable lesson. That while practice makes perfect, what can go wrong, will always go wrong… Or maybe, I was just simply unprepared.

I noticed that after my failed poster-making bid, I gradually stopped drawing altogether. The last time I did anything related to drawing was in 2015. It makes me wonder if I made the right decision on quitting what I’ve come to believe is not really my forte, or should I have been more patient and passionate, and continue to hone what could have been a budding talent.

Have you been so shy to verbalize what you want to say that you end up regretting not speaking up when you should have? Have you kept your mouth shut and did nothing because you thought you’re not good enough? I have. Actually I still do. From school, up to now at work, I’m still having difficulties expressing what I want and what I need. My reason is unclear, even to me. I’d like to believe that it’s genetics. But my sister is very upfront and vocal when she tells me stories as to how she addresses her concerns at work to her manager. I also thought it was probably a racial thing. That Filipinos, known for being resilient, just takes everything without a question. But again, I’ve had Filipino co-workers who can be ambassadors for fighting for your rights and even trigger conversations. But my best guess is that I am this way, because I fear that what I’m about to ask for is just too much, or that it’s simply just not for me. That I shouldn’t reach the point where I have to ask if it’s something that I rightfully deserve to begin with.

Back in high school, we had Student Teachers. They were my classmates handpicked by our teachers to take their place for a week or so. Part of their ‘job’ is to create lesson plans, conduct quizzes AND dress the part. While it wasn’t a mystery to me why I wasn’t selected by my teachers to be a student teacher (I did not excel in any of our subjects. I passed them all, though not with flying colors), I know that had I volunteered I would have been given a fair shot at taking one of the classes. My motive then wasn’t deep at all. I just really wanted to wear a teacher’s uniform, because I was curious how I’d look in an adult’s outfit.

We also had our own publication in high school. I already forgot if they print those monthly or quarterly, but I peruse it like it was required reading. My classmates would submit their own compositions and poems. I remember feeling excited when I see their submissions get published, but at the same time feel intimidated by how broad and polished their vocabulary were. My poems remained in my notebook and never saw the light of the day, because I got scared that the editors would think I’m crazy for even trying.

I brought this not-so-good habit/mentality to my college years. In college, I highly admired my talented classmates that went on to become part of different dance squads. I’ll be the first one to admit that I am not a great dancer. Tiktok is all I do, and I’m unsure if that even counts as a talent for dancing. But I also know that I can learn the choreography and the required facial expression (the ooohs and the aaahhhs, and smirks, if you know what I mean) if you’ll give me ample time to practice. I would sometimes catch them practicing their dance routine and I would imagine being a part of it. And that’s where it all ended. Just in my imagination. I didn’t have the guts to show up in their auditions. The idea of showing them ‘what I’ve got,’ scared me because something in the back of my head was telling me that I’ve got nothing to show. That I should only show up when I actually have undergone a formal dance class and not join the dance squad so I can start learning how to dance.

Now that I’m a working man, I would still catch myself doing this. Although sometimes, it’s the opposite way. When they make me assume a certain position, I feel like it’s a little to much for me. I’ve had jobs where they’d ask me to take on something that I’m not comfortable about, but I still had to do it because if I don’t, what would that make me look like? There were also lot of times where there would be requests that would remain unasked, because I feel like I’m not in the position to ask for it.

It truly is a bad habit, and it’s doing me a lot of harm and almost no good. I’m thankful that I recognize it now, but I know that it’ll take me a while to change and fully overcome it. I just hope that when that time comes, I’d feel entitled enough not to hesitate to embrace that much-needed change.

Yesterday I attended my naturalization ceremony to officially complete my application for US citizenship. The day prior to that, I honestly do not know what to feel. I feel sad, but also hopeful. My interview went well, my paperworks were all completed. But apparently, I wasn’t truly ready for this surge of emotions that will come afterwards. Imagine losing your identity to gain another. Although that ‘another’ is far better in arguably all aspects, I guess it’s my being patriotic that’s getting to me. I’ve loved being a Filipino. And not just the good part, but also the flaws that came with it. But then I’ve already made my decision. I’m going to be an American. I’m giving my love and loyalty to the US. Because as President Trump said during his message to us during the ceremony, “when you give your love and loyalty to America, she returns her love and loyalty to you.”

 

I was advised by my friends who previously took the oath that during the ceremony they ask for volunteers to share their experience via speech. If no one volunteers, then they will randomly select two among the candidates for naturalization. I thought I needed to be ready just in case I get included in a batch that will be just as meek and reluctant as I am. So I started coming up with ideas as to what I would like to share if I get chosen. I wrote everything in a scrap paper. That paper will be the same paper I’ll take with me in the podium.

 

I arrived at the court house. Upon checking in, this kind lady was asking us how we’re doing while going through our ID and paperwork. When it was turn, I blurted out, “fantastic.” Suddenly, like a light bulb moment, her demeanor quickly changed and asked “Fantastic. Sounds like you can be our guest speaker for today. Would you like to do it?” I was surprised with the sudden turn of events. After hesitating for a short moment, I asked her “How long does it have to be?” “Two minutes,” she replied. I can do “One to two minutes.” With her red pen, she wrote the words “Guest Speaker” on the paperwork  that I’ve brought and was instructed to present it to the gentlemen on the table in front of us. What. Was. I. Thinking. Next thing I remember, I was being whisked off to a different seat reserved for people who will either speak or run the ceremony.

 

The ceremony went smoothly and quickly. We sang, pledged allegiance, and listened to the President’s message among other things. Then I heard the judge say something along the lines of  “We have a guest speaker from the  Philippines.” It was my cue to get up, and deliver my speech. With knees shaking and chest just about to explode from my rapid heart beat, I delivered my speech the best way that I could. “Thank you your Honor,” I said. Turning to the audience of about over a hundred, I said my greetings and congratulatory message. Then I dropped my disclaimer: “I have never delivered a speech before, but this is a special day so I’m making an exception. Please forgive me if I choke.” I, then proceeded and the next words you’ll read is my best recollection of how things unraveled:

 

“Today marks a big change in my life. In our lives. I would like to celebrate by going back to the very first plane ride that I had. My destination was America. During that memorable flight, I had close encounter with clouds. Because it was my first time, I was tempted to touch it. However, there is no way I can do that without me breaking the flight protocols and endangering my fellow passengers’ safety. That flight further reinforced what I already know. Some things will always be so near yet so far. Opportunities are exactly like that in the Philippines. Dreams are so hard to chase. Goals feel so unattainable no matter how hard you work. Little did I know that things are about to change once I set foot in my destination.

 

The US is not called land of the free for nothing. It is here that I felt free to chase after the life that I want. The freedom to make something out of myself. The freedom to be who I want to be. This country gave me the resources I need to be able to accomplish what I’ve always set out to do: provide a shelter for my family, bring food to the table and secure our future. That is why I take it as a massive honor and blessing to be an American citizen starting today.

 

This is not the end, but rather one of our early peaks in our journey here in America. I wish all of us peace, security and lots of opportunities that comes with this new beginning. Thank you for your time, and let me say this loud and proud for the first time: I am happy to be home and I can’t wait to exercise my right to vote!”

 

The ceremony ended shortly after I’ve delivered my speech. Fellow new Americans with their families then came up to me and told me they liked my speech and that I did a great job. We hugged, shook hands, and greeted one another. Then in the street, before reaching my car, a gentleman gave me this knowing look, smiled at me, said something like “that’s him” and congratulated me together with his family. It was an amazing feeling, because I went there alone but left with people greeting and smiling at me.

 

So far I’ve already updated my social security, registered to vote, and made an appointment for my passport processing. I’m so excited to find out what else is in store for me after this. But for now I’m happy just soaking up the thrill that came not with delivering a speech, but in challenging (and breaking) my self-imposed limitations.

 

I meant to write and document every step we took in buying my first house. I’ve snapped photos and recorded videos, but never really had the chance to translate every thing into words. An obvious reason is that because the whole process has been a little bit overwhelming for me. I had been so busy with all the e-mail exchanges, phone calls, transactions and meetings that it left me with very little to no headspace for writing anything. A more subtle reason though, is because of fear. I feared that if I share everything too soon and things don’t go as planned (which actually happens in real life, per my fabulous real state agent), I’ll be guy who counted the chicken even before the first egg hatched. To say that I’ll shrink in embarrassment will be a total understatement. But today is the safest day to do it. Because today, our house turns one! Come join me rotate back the clock to one year ago.

 

“Where do we bring this?” my mother asked, pointing to the furnitures. “To the neighbors. Ask them what else they want from here,” I said as I was busy turning our one-bedroom apartment upside down for a general cleaning, our home for over two years. We had friendly neighbors. A Filipino family on our left and a Mexican couple on our right. As I was sorting, packing, and discovering largely forgotten stuff, I was also sending frantic messages to my realtor, loan officer and home consultant. It was still not clear if the house key will be turned over that day, but from the looks of it it seems like we’re more than ready to the leave the apartment at any given moment. Worse comes to worst, we’ll sleep on hard floor because we’ve literally gotten rid of everything except for our clothes. That’s how badly we’ve wanted to move out and start fresh.

 

It was a no, and then a go and then a no again. It seemed like we’ll be stuck for another day of waiting until I got the phone call from my home consultant that assured us that we’re moving that day. Only it was already 05:00pm and it’s getting dark and chilly outside. My realtor was skeptical about it, as turnkeys normally happen on a daytime. Though with doubts, we shoved all our belongings into our car and drove away like we’re never coming back.

 

The ‘gamble’ has paid off. After signing a bunch of agreement, he congratulated me. One hand for the mandatory handshake, and the other to receive the house keys. And at around 05:30pm I was officially a house owner. The darkness and coldness from the outside had no match from the brightness and warmth that embraced us as soon as we’ve stepped in our new house. It was an amazing feeling. It was a fulfillment of a dream that was four years in the making. Suddenly all the hard work and sacrifices made sense.

 

When it was all still just a dream, I pictured myself differently. I thought I’d cry buckets of tears of joy. In reality, I didn’t shed a tear. I was extremely happy that’s for sure, but I came to realize a year later that probably the reason why I didn’t reacted the way I thought I would is because I was in denial. I couldn’t believe that it’s here and I’m in here. It still felt like a dream. I guess the problem with dreams is that when they come true, you have to stopped dreaming right away and start living it. And I had been dreaming for such a long time, and that to quit abruptly would feel like kicking an old habit.

 

Today, our house had completely transformed into a home. No, not because of the completed backyard work, but because in just a year’s time it has witnessed a lot of things that made it more than just a pile of bricks, wood and stone. It has witnessed laughter and peaceful moments. Misunderstandings and fights. Reunions and separations. It has seen us come home from work exhausted, recharge in our sleep and wake up with new hopes and prayers. Best of all, it felt the love that goes around.

 

Some people see their houses as investments. I see mine as a shelter built by dreams to harbor more dreams. And this I hope is just the beginning.

 

 

 

 

Lately I have been feeling that I am not interesting. I know it’s weird, but please hear me out. I ended 2018 and started 2019 without an active social media presence. I was logged off for at least two months. I initially did it because I was starting to become busy with a lot of things with very little time to do them, that I started to suspect my almost constant scrolling and lurking in social media as the culprit for my lack of free time and headspace. True enough, after quitting social media use, I magically have more time to actually do things that I normally wouldn’t be able to attend to. I felt more productive and felt like I’m engaging in more meaningful relationships. But I’ve also come to realize that it’s 2019, and to go completely dark on social media isn’t just suspicious (to me at least, I’m that judgmental LOL), but also probably next to impossible. Especially to someone like me who has his roots ingrained in two different countries. And so, the real story began upon my return to social media.

 

In February, I wiped away the dust and logged in again to see if I’ve missed anything important. Apart from some friend requests from people I actually know, nothing else really stuck in my memory (which prompts moral lesson no. 1: there is no real need to refresh the screen every two minutes or every time my hand graze through my pocket). I logged out again after that. I would check back either in a daily or weekly basis, but I rarely leave the app still signed in. Subsequently, I noticed that I’m posting less and less. The contents I put up are so far in between that if anyone is keeping track, they’d think I’m either a) hiding, b) hibernating or c) just plain dead and gets resurrected every two months or so. I started feeling that whatever I’m going to post is not going to be important enough anyways. That whatever I’m doing or going through is not relevant. That if I choose to share something, it has to be a ‘knock out,’ a breaking news otherwise, it will just get lost in sea of shallow things, petty musings and mindless actions currently flooding my newsfeed. And it’s in that process that I felt uninteresting. Whatever I’m doing feels unworthy to be shared. Like “Hey look! I did a thing, but who truly cares?”

 

Sometimes I think that maybe I’m overthinking this. That it is not that deep and I’m just making myself so worked up over something that doesn’t  mean anything or not to be taken seriously. But somehow, I’m thankful that it made me more mindful of what I share to everyone. That quality over quantity is still king. And hopefully build some mystery while in the process of doing or not doing it. Because to be mysterious is to incite the curious. Oh, is that a jolt of “interesting-city” that hit my bloodstream again?

 

Note: I wrote this piece one very early morning in the dying days of summer 2019. Never had the chance to put it up until today, but to update you I’ve made several comebacks and posted way too many stuff online again. My brother from the UK made a visit here in the US for the first time so I guess that’s a valid excuse. But I am now starting to gradually log off, even deleting the apps at one point. Thanks for reading!