Growing Pains

The title seems more appropriate for a blog by a teenager, doesn't it? Well, fuck you, I have problems as well.

Recently, I started to notice in newspapers that victims above 18 years old were described as women, which seems a bit weird because when I was that age, I sure don't feel like one. In fact, it surprises me all the time that I've left school for six years (and a bit) now and it's disconcerting because I've been waiting for that moment for so long - as in to get out and make a mark in the world - and it's been that long, yet I don't think I've even started on something meteorite-ical.

My life since I gleefully left high school may be a little hazy (hands up if you still feel like you left school last week) but I still feel like a 17 year old without the exams-for-11-subjects stress. I was introduced to a bigger world during National Service in Perlis where I learned whatever I learned in school on a little island I barely left, is nothing to shout about. Then a stint in INTI college (yes, I'm calling that year and a half, a stint) broadened my horizons where I got to know more about other people in other states or countries. Three and a half years of doing a zoology degree in Australia was not just an eye-opener on how little I knew, or how ignorant and sheltered a life I had, it was an eye-gouging,  eyeball-flogging experience that shoved my face in the slurry pit that was my shitty attitude on how arrogant I was, and probably still am.

I swore to never have a job I would be reluctant to get out of bed for.

Well, I have a job that everyone gushed on how unique it was but I still am not finding myself hopping out of bed in excitement like OMFG SANTA IS HERE!! The problem was: I never liked getting out of bed. Ask the kareshi...he has been trying to literally drag me out of bed a few times already and if it wasn't for true love, I would have flogged him like a Bolton (Game of Thrones reference if you are that retarded) during that time he talked me into joining him for a bootcamp. Yea, you read right. A. BOOTCAMP. Where they scream and shout what is presumably words of encouragements but I strongly suspected they were actually words of abuse...which may work better in all honesty.

I read too much into women's magazines articles on how sometimes we don't keep all our friends forever and that's ok.

That's not ok. I was hurt when an ex-classmate for at least six and a half years got engaged and married and didn't even tell me nor extended a courteous invitation when everyone else (even Prince George) had got one. Then I thought it was because I wasn't close to her so I wasn't even thought of. Until I found out an ex uni-mate got married on the same day (the double valentine's day of 14 Feb) and I was so excited and cooed over her wedding pictures (and Emma was only in a couple of courses and a group project). Very unlike my expression(s) when I stalked (unashamedly) the said ex-classmate's fb page and whoever else that went to the wedding (I'm sure Prince George had to decline due to not being able to take malaria tablets at that age).

It's not ok when I realised I haven't spoken to my best friend in a year, not since I wished her a happy birthday, without the prompting of facebook, and she didn't wish me back on mine. I took my birthday notifications off to avoid the flood of forced-by-facebook obligatory wishes but still, your BFF forgetting your 25th birthday? So very not ok. But now the kareshi carries that BFF title on his already burdened shoulders (he has other titles other than 'HRM', such as fix-anything-electronic-coz-he's-an-engineer, movie/song downloader...) without the pinky swearing and blood mixing on slashed palms. In fact, I don't think he knows I've added another glory pin on his (sexy) chest of medals.

Making new friends at this age is harder. I can't just share my crayons anymore. People find it hard to believe I'm shy but I grew up learning not everyone likes blatancy. It's not very nice to traumatise people as a first impression. There are varying degrees of tolerance and being bashful at first is the best, and only way of sussing out each individual's immune system.

Like a virus with ambush tactics.

I find it extremely difficult to ask for help.

Like when after I was moved to a different university dorm (after finding a naked, drunk guy in my room and received a very disturbing love letter from someone else living on another floor a week later) and lugged 5 tonnes of stuff up and down stairs and steep slopes all by myself. The director of the dorm, who was still very worried that I had such a steely personality during my harrasment reports, found me huffing and puffing and refusing help, said these magic words: no one can be too independent. 

My mom 'proudly' describes me as a hardheaded person @ bulldog whereupon I refuse to let go of something. Namedly my independence and love for animals. I probably screamed the house down at the age of 9, declaring I was old enough to cut my own fingernails (and hair) and when I wanted a pet dog, the house was still in shambles. I cultivated dreams of buying my own diamond ring at the age of 21 and possibly my own place at 25. Who knew I didn't have the same financial savings mentality like Rosmah's?

A few days ago, I broke down, sobbing to my mom that I was fucking 25, earning shit money (with no possibility of increment like her own job when she started at the bank with the same amount) with no credible skills (I can't even juggle) and still accepting parental allowances *shudder*. It's not just the Asian mentality of getting a well paid job after graduation and caring for your parents but the financial dependency I still have at this age. You'd think 25 is not so bad but I had high expectations of myself but I found out I didn't learn to prepare properly for it. They don't teach you that in school.

Duhhh.

I have a hummingbird mentality

I fleet from thought to thought with no real weight or substance or seriousness. I can lose track of a conversation midway no matter the topic. Attention Deficit Disorder? Probably, if you could provide the funds to get an official diagnosis. My nose is always in my tablet where there isn't just oil smears on the screen but a dentation. The reason: I can do so many things at once I'm afraid the battery may not last its warranty. I've got notes to myself written down in so many places that I read in the papers that paleontologists in Egypt found them clutched in the paws of a mummified cat.

But hey, there you go. Life.