It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here. Writing used to be my outlet for emotional release, but I’m finding it harder and harder to put together coherent sentences. It’s as if my literacy skills decreased significantly since elementary school. I blame advanced placement English classes, to be honest. There was so much focus on concise thesis-writing and test-taking that I completely lost my taste and ability to write abstractly. Anyway, I digress.
Since my last post, my work permit has been approved and finally after 2 years, I no longer need to be living out of a suitcase. I passed another professional exam and moved into the city just 5 minutes from work. The rent is crazy expensive – if you factor in currency change and nothing else, it’s double what I paid in Toronto for my own private penthouse. My savings, which were supposed to go towards a downpayment on a home, are depleting. But I’m justifying the cost by telling myself that while I’m studying, the time saved on commuting is priceless.
All things considered, life isn’t too shabby. I could definitely stand to be paid more for the complexity of my job, but for the most part there isn’t anything I really need to worry about. For some reason though, I’m still unhappy. I’ve been unhappy for quite a while.
I thought that obtaining a work permit would bring happiness, because I could at least plan out the next 5 years. For those of you who know me, you know that stability and security are the things I just about value most in life. Those 2 things used to be enough. It sounds completely lame, but ever since I broke up with my ex-boyfriend, I feel like I don’t know what I am doing with my life anymore. Everyday seems like I’m just killing time and waiting for death to find me.
Before I met, let’s just call him John Doe, I was perfectly fine with being alone. I was one of those women who trusted and relied on no one but herself, didn’t want kids, and only needed to have a decent enough career to support herself financially. John Doe somehow managed to break down all those walls and since he left, I haven’t been able to build them back up, even after 2 and a half years. These days I’m content again with belonging to nobody, but at the same time, I know what it feels like to truly be lonely.
I’ve dated around, but I’m not one of those girls who can simply date “for fun”. After a few failed attempts at opening up to someone new, I flat out gave up and put all my focus on my career. After all, did I really want to be the girl who needed a boyfriend? Work-related projects keep me busy, but it feels empty and pointless. Sometimes I think maybe if I went back to Canada things would be better, but my best friend has her own family now and I really don’t have any other bosom friends. Plus, I do have a tendency to run away to a different city/state/country instead of facing my own problems.
So, that’s that. I buy myself luxury items occasionally to gain some happiness that comes from material wealth, but it never lasts long. I don’t think my bank account likes it either.
“… you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage – you build it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas; or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.” Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s