Tag: existential

The muddy waters

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Ever since the end of December, I’ve done little but laze around the house—eating like a pig and catching up on months of lost TV time. The funny (or is it sad?) thing here is that all this wasting away is shamelessly occurring not at my own home, but at my Aunt’s.

Not having a job or a regular means of income, I’ve given up my apartment in Ann Arbor and moved bag and baggage to their home in a town nearby. I am not particularly pleased with this scenario, but I am not exactly perturbed by it either. At least, not perturbed enough to do very much about it. But, just so you don’t come to the conclusion that I’m completely hopeless, I have to let you know that I’ve sent out some (a couple of) letters of application to other bigwigs in the field, and I’ve also had the chance to meet one in person for quite a while as he was touring these parts. From what I can tell, it appears as though people in general are impressed by my credentials, and something ought to materialise soon enough.

It’s just, I’m still wrestling with my existential crises (as always), and I’m unable to firmly put my foot into any door; which isn’t much of a surprise given I’m not certain I want to enter any of the doors before me. Either way, to add to the generally muddled state of affairs, I’ve been seriously contemplating a couple of things. Firstly, I really do want to take a proper break from all of this. I know that my state right now could be easily confused with a break in itself, but it’s not what I would deem a proper break. To this end, I’ve been looking up the usual relaxation hot spots (I seem to be particularly fixated on Hawaii right now) and trying to plan something which ought to help clear my mind.

And secondly, even if my offers materialise sooner rather than later, I don’t want to begin my academic work right now. I want to spend some quality time away from all of this and do something real with my life.

Now, all I need to do is figure out just what that is.

Crazy hippie talk

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Why doesn’t he talk to us anymore? Does he no longer love us? Doesn’t he even care that we miss him?

A sad state of affairs this, but only over the past fortnight did I realise that writing on my journal had, for the most part, entirely substituted my need for actual conversations with real people.

My quarter-life crisis induced meandering coinciding with the Christmas holidays have resulted in me spending a lot of quality time with my family. The whole lot of us—my mom, brother and I, my cousins, uncle and aunt—have all been huddled together eating heartily, talking openly and having a blast shopping, gifting and re-gifting.

The whole affair has been intensely therapeutic for me, and while I still haven’t a clue about anything—professionally or personally—it doesn’t bother me nearly as much. It’s comforting to have people around who are understanding and supportive, be it whether you’re yearning for a heart-to-heart, or just a buddy to trounce in Mario Kart. Things have been so positive, in fact, that I’ve (after consultation with the doctor-like shrink) weaned myself off my medication. Moreover, I’m now relaxed, rejuvenated and itching to return to the sciences, math and other geeky pursuits. I’m not quite as concerned where I get to do it nor with whom, but the important thing in my mind is that I’ve realised being a geek is a fundamental aspect of my existence. It is not something that I can abandon under the guise of lusting after trivial pursuits. And believe me, in the lowest of my lows, I was quite settled on abandoning the sciences and other scholarly pursuits entirely, to quest for other avenues that might lead me to being happy.

There you have it. Things are going rather well, and I’m even contemplating a break from this break, to somewhere warm like Hawaii, before I get sucked into the rigmarole of the next stages of my life. Let’s wait and see.

So don’t you worry about me not caring enough about you to report-in here. I still love you all dearly, even if you’re the kinds who abscond for a couple of months only to re-emerge married to someone else.

With the flow

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If you are expecting this entry to be some sort of misguided rant on the menstrual cycle, you’re going to be quite disappointed.

While most people imagine themselves “navigating their way through life,” I envision myself standing rather inert, allowing life to flow past me. As with a lot of other things in this world, I find it pointless to question why this is so, and instead just acknowledge that things are the way they are.

As far back as I can remember (which, arguably, isn’t very long), I cannot recall making any significant decision with any degree of surety or conviction; I seem to just lie there as eventualities take their course, and the decision is conveniently made for me. (And no, choosing just the right caffeinated beverage from the plethora of delicious choices from the nearby vending machine does not count.) Be it my academic choices, or choosing parts of the world in which to pursue them, to determining what kinds of relationships I engage in, with whom, or for that matter, even when those relationships dissolve—the sorts of decisions that ought to shape the core of my existence—I find myself more as a passive observer of events unfolding rather than an active participant in the intricate tapestry.

If you think about it though, this in itself really isn’t a bad scheme of events—as long as one’s happy with the way things evolve. And therein lies the unfortunate twist in our tale: Recently, I’ve been hating everything in the picture. And what’s worse, I seem to have gotten so used to sitting back and allowing things to “fall into place,” I’m not sure I’m even capable of weaving the fabric of my own life any more.