Today, I realise that everyone’s life is like points of similar journey.
You’ve been here ten years before me, and my expectation is that you could have understood me. But as I myself have forgotten what it was to be myself ten years ago, I’m not surprised that you couldn’t.
Here is me, trying to describe my life back then.
Ten years ago, I was a pregnant young lady whose husband was jobless. We were both just graduated. The house we stayed at, was the charity of our parents, and we sold metal junks to have some alone time at an old cinema. Shockingly, we didn’t care to save the cash we’ve earned from the sale.
We were scared with uncertainty, yet we were much more fearless than how we are right now.
Those struggles are left of no meaning as there are no ‘we’ five years later, we got divorced, and not because we had never found financial security afterwards, but that we had enough, we didn’t appreciate.
My struggles are different now, and sometimes I wonder if the things I’m fighting for are actually worth the energy, or is it that most of the time I’m just being lazy – trying to be stingy with my resources (time, energy, money and space). Am I keeping too much to myself?
I wonder what my 21 to 22-year-old me would say about me, and as I’m typing this, I guess she is feeling sad. Shocked and sunken deep into her belly that house her baby.
Today, the baby is eight years old. His sister is five. Things are different as I thought we could’ve persevered.
This is a pointless writing, and a revelation at the same time.