To really understand what I've been through in the year 2015, I must backtrack to December 13, 2014. I had just finished the last papers of my university life and attended prom a few days prior, so my spirits were high. On that Saturday, I got myself a new phone because the previous one went haywire. It was on that day too that I saw my grandmother for the second last time. We spent the evening and night with other relatives, trading updates on each other's life. I was trying to figure out which kind of job to apply for and what long-term life plans I might want. My grandma asked me when would I wear the mortarboard (for the umpteenth time) and I remember telling her "soon".
Last December I also contemplated to end blogging once and for all, because I predicted (correctly) that I won't be sharing much on my blog after I enter the workforce. "A Parting Gift" was supposed to be my last to you readers. After that I decided to switch to Instagram, since my new phone is able to take higher, better resolution pictures. The timing was right too: my mum's birthday was around the corner, Christmas was coming and I was to go on a family trip on New Year's Day. Plenty of pictures to take and share.
Christmas came and I, along with my parents, visited my grandma for the last time. I remember being upset because I was told off for wearing a dark shirt. Grandma didn't say anything about bad luck - it was okay for me to wear dark colours, if the shirt has pictures, words or designs on it. Something about safety, when I reasoned with myself later. Who knew this was to be our last exchange, but at that time I didn't care much.
New Year's Day saw me high up in the air for the first time in my life, and I watched the sunrise out of the aircraft's window. There was so much to see, learn and experience during my Cambodia trip. For a while I took my mind off what lay ahead of me (work!) and enjoyed myself in good company.
Job-hunting started to be more serious after I came back from vacation. I got a few offers and I showed up for some of the interviews even though they weren't exactly down my alley. Around the same time my university was organising a flood relief effort over in the east coast. I signed up immediately, knowing that I could put my time to good use and let's face it, it would look better on my résumé.
I made some new friends (or acquaintances, I think it's more accurate), learned about life in a different part of my country and gained some new knowledge about myself while doing volunteering work. There was this feeling of "oh if only I had done this more often, and earlier", accompanied by thoughts along the lines of "so this was what I missed out" and "how different my life would be if I'd been more outgoing". I'm not going into details here, partly because I don't remember most of them and besides, some memories are best left unshared.
I visited the 1600 Pandas World Tour on the same day I got the shortest haircut of my life - the #2 haircut. The papier-mâché pandas were cute, but it was my own almost bald head that made me laugh. Friends and family asked me about it; I gave different explanations each time: "trying out a new style", "treating a minor hair loss problem", "going for a temporary ordination" and once, just for the fun of it, "getting into national service". Ladies and gentlemen, the truth was I made a slip of the tongue when the barber asked me what was I going for. I wanted the sides of my head to be shaven shorter than the other parts of my head, but the barber misheard. He did double-confirm with me, but I misunderstood him and nodded my head when I ought to shook it. I had a good laugh about it when I saw myself in the mirror. Little did I know, in another part of the world, a cousin of mine also had his head of hair shaved, more severely than mine. The next I met him was at my grandma's funeral.
The day of my grandma's passing started ordinarily enough for me. I fetched my sister to school and then went for a jog in the park. In preparation of the coming lunar new year, I spent the morning and noon putting a fresh coat of paint on the gates of our residence. Late in the afternoon, while I was watering the plants and soaking myself in the warm sun, the news came. Everything was a blur but I had to think straight for the sake of my mother. I drove her over to grandma's and said my last goodbyes.
I rarely wear white, only when it is required of me, like on my grandma's funeral. My grief was long in coming, and when it arrived, it overstayed its welcome. My birthday was a few days after the funeral, right at the beginning of Chinese New Year. I didn't know how to feel or what to do. My family organised a get-together with relatives from my mum's side, and the dinner was fine, just that some things somebody said cut at me. I changed my Facebook profile picture to the one I selected weeks before, taken in Cambodia. I originally planned to quote Taylor Swift's lyrics, something about feeling 22, but decided against it in light of what transpired. I also made the pic black-and-white, so much for the taboos.
My job-hunting continued without much success, even though I had a wonderful time interning at a clothing company and almost got accepted. Almost. Meanwhile, my course mates were talking about graduation. I was going to wear a mortarboard, after all, but "soon" was not soon enough. I didn't prepare much for the convocation, except for renting the robes and getting the necessary paperwork done at my university. Who knew my grandma's passing would change the way I feel about graduation. Before, it seemed to take forever to come. Now, it was just a formality, not the milestone I thought it would be.
May and June found me stressful and fidgety. Half a year had passed and still I was unemployed. Was I picky? Was it the economy? Speaking of the economy, I couldn't believe I was still entitled to have book vouchers from the education ministry, even after I graduated. I asked around and found out that the ministry was distributing vouchers according to last December's student list. No harm done, I could use some books myself.
More changes were coming. My neighbour moved out and another chapter in my life closed. When we were younger we used to play together often, now we grew apart, lived apart. The trees which I was so proud of - along the streets close to my neighbourhood - were cut down unceremoniously to make way for a new tolled expressway. Traffic was getting bad around my area, so driving figured prominently in my job search. I had to look for a job which allows me to travel by public transportation, and I succeeded in finding it, ending my anxiety about joblessness.
Although my boss and colleagues were open-minded people, I had to hide the fact that I attended the rally on the eve of National Day from them. I didn't know whether I could trust them and I was still on probation, so playing safe was my concern. Twice I went to the rally, on the same day, despite the rain and fear of a lockdown in the city. It was a good experience. YOLO.
September, October and November plodded along. I was trying to adjust to the demands of my job. There was so much to be learnt and there was a lot of growing up to do. I have to set rules for myself and review my moral compass from time to time in the very real world where everyone is out for themselves. I have to manage my time well and keep my expenses in check, now that I have this thing called salary. I have to be kind to myself and find ways to guard my heart. I have to be careful what information I feed to my brain, else it would find something to chew, like the past. I have to reconcile my past and present selves, and figure out what my future self will need. Et cetera. Now that I've left the protective enclave of academia and joined the society, I'm beginning to understand why people change and why they lose themselves.
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It's December again. I like December - people are nicer, pace is slower. I remember my younger years, when during the long holidays, my grandma would come over and babysit for my parents while they went on long trips. After she became incapacitated, I made it a point to visit her every December. Sometimes she was sweet and would regale me and my siblings with colourful stories from her past. Other times when she was in bad mood, she would recount all the wrongs that were done to her. In any case, I would still listen to whatever she had to say, because don't we all need an outlet for expressing ourselves?
Which brings me to the next point: I won't stop blogging. It's the only platform I find suitable to my needs. I might not blog weekly, like I used to way back when, but I would try to write something if I'm so inclined/inspired.
