Moving on and out
Progressing seemed to be like passing through a haze as thick and as hard as a concrete wall. I hardly knew it's there, but my body and mind felt the strain and struggle. Also, that by all means, it seemed impossible, but then again here I am, through with it and feeling the numbness or maybe just the calm that comes after the struggle.
After six years (one spent utterly confused, another spent as a shut-in: in my home and in my mind, with only the final four as actual "productive years") I am finally graduating from college! While I'm not taken to jumping for joy, and the use of an exclamation point in my previous sentence is a cause for alarm in my world, yes, I'm very much happy and satisfied with what I have done with my time.
Of course, this is also accompanied with a tinge of anxiety. I have plans, although many people would say that life shouldn't be planned at all (because controlling what happens tends to cause more harm and trouble). But I don't really plan down to the details--- I try to be flexible, making suggestions with myself, calculating options, and adjusting if something doesn't work out. I may be a romantic and a bohemian, but that doesn't mean that I lack a rationale for my decisions and actions.
So far, I only have outlines. My priority is developing a career that can support me in the long-term. I have accepted a freelance job but I have no desire to get on with it for longer than a year. I've decided to look for a 9 to 5 affair, and preferably one with a ladder which I can climb. By next year, I'm looking to financial stability and moving out--- my mother doesn't mind this as long as I keep in touch with her. At the same time, I really wish to be able to support my mother to her retirement or at least give her a more comfortable situation, having been a single mother for almost two decades. This may not be necessary since she's very good with her finances but I think of it as a gesture of gratitude for her support.
Through all these, I know that working on my own stuff (the writings and the few pieces of art) will have to take the back seat. I can accept this, though of course, I will never leave it. Perhaps I can manage a considerable amount of poems every year. Admittedly, a book seems an impossibility to me, still. Unless, of course, I enter the academe and teach (which I don't want to for various reasons I don't want to talk about yet).
Along with these plans, I sometimes stop myself in awe because with the difficulties I've gone through or have witnessed, it's a wonder how I got through all of it. I think that I really just want to know what happens next. And everytime I do find out, I'm always surprised (though there are repeats and repeats of old lessons and events), especially with how I cope with situations and outcomes. And now, again, I can't wait to see how this year will turn out, what will become of me, and who or what I will encounter. Please, even if you do not know me, wish me luck and may you be blessed.