(no subject)
I've never had a particularly good relationship with fear. I know what it's like and I've felt it on occasion, but those occasions have been few and far in between (I say this not out of some sense of bravado or in order to present the image of fearlessness, but rather because I probably don't know any better). I know anger and I know sadness, and I've been fortunate enough to have experienced happiness at one time or another. But fear is something that is by and large unfamiliar to me.
I do not fear death for the simple reason that it is unavoidable. I'd like to delay it as much as possible of course, and would much rather that I be given the chance to experience a good number of things before my time is up. But when it happens... well, there isn't much else you can do about that.
I do not fear failure as much as I hate it. I don't particularly enjoy the thought of losing - I don't think anybody does, really - and so I've tried to condition myself to going all out in anything and everything that I do. That way, even if things don't turn out the way I'd like them to, even if I "lose", there will be no regrets. And that knowledge helps take some of the sting out of the inevitable disappointment.
I do not fear unpleasant situations, although I certainly don't enjoy them and would like to avoid them as much as possible. My mind has always been geared to try and expect the worst, and I tend to visualize all sorts of scenarios at all sorts of times: running into people I don't want to run into during a Saturday night out, getting into a car accident in a bumper-to-bumper stretch on my way somewhere, my supervisor suddenly chewing me out for something we didn't see eye to eye on. Maybe that makes me a pessimist - I've always preferred to think of myself as a realist - but I'd rather be pleasantly disappointed than naive, ignorant and caught with my pants down and my jaw agape. Figuratively speaking, I mean.
I do not fear heights or enclosed spaces, snakes or spiders, needles or insects or vermin or any other common phobias, although the premise of being molested by a large homosexual man in prison is admittedly none too appealing.
And so for the longest time, my greatest fear was being handicapped in some way, shape or form: losing one of my senses or, worse, one of my limbs.
At least, until lately.
***
Over the past few days I have tried to cram my life into bags, twenty-five years into two suitcases. The experience has been difficult - you try packing without any electricity on a damp, rainy Sunday afternoon - but one that is necessary. And, fortunately, I think the worst of it is over. At least I hope that it is.
***
For the first time in a long time I am afraid, and I am not ashamed to admit it.
I am afraid of change, of leaving behind a life that I've grown accustomed to and comfortable with in exchange for one that is full of possibility but also uncertainty.
I am afraid of starting over from square one, not knowing where to go to get what, not knowing anybody, not knowing my place - although not many people are given such an opportunity despite yearning for one for the longest time.
I am afraid of falling out of touch with family and friends, of bonds and relationships weakening, straining and crumbling, as can often be the case during situations like these.
I am afraid of the moment when it'll finally sink in that I'm on my own, once my sister has left me to return home, once my apartment has been furnished and stocked but, in many ways, is more empty than it's ever been.
I am afraid because this signifies a milestone in my life, a crossroads that will shape my future and I don't want to mess it up, because after this nothing will truly ever be the same again.
I am afraid of all of these things and of so much more.
***
These are the last moments of my stay in this country, the last moments of the first great chapter in my life. I'm holding the hourglass in my hands and I can see the last few grains of sand slipping to the bottom, but I'm powerless to stop them from falling or even just slow them down, only able to watch.
These last four days feel like the last ten minutes of the season finale of the television series that has become my life... or of the life that has become my own television series; I can't really tell which is which anymore. There are so many sub-plots that remain unresolved, so many questions that are still unanswered, and even I don't know how it's all going to go down or what's going to happen once the next season starts.
All I know is that I'm merely moments away from the screen fading to black and the credits coming out.
I do not fear death for the simple reason that it is unavoidable. I'd like to delay it as much as possible of course, and would much rather that I be given the chance to experience a good number of things before my time is up. But when it happens... well, there isn't much else you can do about that.
I do not fear failure as much as I hate it. I don't particularly enjoy the thought of losing - I don't think anybody does, really - and so I've tried to condition myself to going all out in anything and everything that I do. That way, even if things don't turn out the way I'd like them to, even if I "lose", there will be no regrets. And that knowledge helps take some of the sting out of the inevitable disappointment.
I do not fear unpleasant situations, although I certainly don't enjoy them and would like to avoid them as much as possible. My mind has always been geared to try and expect the worst, and I tend to visualize all sorts of scenarios at all sorts of times: running into people I don't want to run into during a Saturday night out, getting into a car accident in a bumper-to-bumper stretch on my way somewhere, my supervisor suddenly chewing me out for something we didn't see eye to eye on. Maybe that makes me a pessimist - I've always preferred to think of myself as a realist - but I'd rather be pleasantly disappointed than naive, ignorant and caught with my pants down and my jaw agape. Figuratively speaking, I mean.
I do not fear heights or enclosed spaces, snakes or spiders, needles or insects or vermin or any other common phobias, although the premise of being molested by a large homosexual man in prison is admittedly none too appealing.
And so for the longest time, my greatest fear was being handicapped in some way, shape or form: losing one of my senses or, worse, one of my limbs.
At least, until lately.
***
Over the past few days I have tried to cram my life into bags, twenty-five years into two suitcases. The experience has been difficult - you try packing without any electricity on a damp, rainy Sunday afternoon - but one that is necessary. And, fortunately, I think the worst of it is over. At least I hope that it is.
***
For the first time in a long time I am afraid, and I am not ashamed to admit it.
I am afraid of change, of leaving behind a life that I've grown accustomed to and comfortable with in exchange for one that is full of possibility but also uncertainty.
I am afraid of starting over from square one, not knowing where to go to get what, not knowing anybody, not knowing my place - although not many people are given such an opportunity despite yearning for one for the longest time.
I am afraid of falling out of touch with family and friends, of bonds and relationships weakening, straining and crumbling, as can often be the case during situations like these.
I am afraid of the moment when it'll finally sink in that I'm on my own, once my sister has left me to return home, once my apartment has been furnished and stocked but, in many ways, is more empty than it's ever been.
I am afraid because this signifies a milestone in my life, a crossroads that will shape my future and I don't want to mess it up, because after this nothing will truly ever be the same again.
I am afraid of all of these things and of so much more.
***
These are the last moments of my stay in this country, the last moments of the first great chapter in my life. I'm holding the hourglass in my hands and I can see the last few grains of sand slipping to the bottom, but I'm powerless to stop them from falling or even just slow them down, only able to watch.
These last four days feel like the last ten minutes of the season finale of the television series that has become my life... or of the life that has become my own television series; I can't really tell which is which anymore. There are so many sub-plots that remain unresolved, so many questions that are still unanswered, and even I don't know how it's all going to go down or what's going to happen once the next season starts.
All I know is that I'm merely moments away from the screen fading to black and the credits coming out.