Took a lot of wrong turns the past weekend, and said a lot of things that were better left unsaid. But as much as it's too late, sometimes it takes impetuousness to get me thinking and reflecting in the way I usually would once again. For all I know, this scenario will one day repeat itself, and out of my forgetfulness and the influence of emotions which may seem so overwhelming at that point in time, the same old ugly thoughts will once again flow out from between my lips with a lack of restraint, confident that they would hit the right notes and send the right blows, only to die abruptly and vanish with all their energy spent on nothing. Yet at least I'll know that I've been there before, that with every mess comes the responsibility of cleaning up. At least I'll be able to see a little more clearly during those brief moments when my eyes are clouded by selfishness, regardless of how little a difference that may make. At least that view won't seem so futile, much less foreign.
It's such a shame how I still need to constantly remind myself that I can surpass the sum of my parts, if only I allow myself to do so. Am I that atrociously forgetful? That Friday night when I returned home, I once again sparked off that weary war of words with my mother – that rant about how I feel so trapped in this particular stage of my life with nothing fulfilling to look forward to, and how most of the people I know just seem to be absorbing brand new lessons and experiences, just because there's rightfully nothing to be afraid of when you're at the cusp of adolescence. I blurted out my mind without considering that she's already had to give up a lot in her life when she was just my age, and most importantly, without realizing my privileges in spite of how I may have felt. I forgot that there's virtue in patience, in the wait that will strengthen one's heart, and that even now, I can still take ownership of my own life, because the right attitude from within is precisely what plants one's feet firmly above all that's happened to him.
As I tossed and turned on my bed last night, I also thought of that Sunday afternoon, when my mother happened to bring up the issue of my A-Level results, telling me that as someone who performed so well in secondary school, I haven't tried my best in JC at all. My reaction to what she said was predictably unpleasant, like that of someone who felt wrongfully accused in an argument gone awry. At that point in time, all I could think of was, "great, just when I can't feel lousier about myself already, you had to go and make things worse". It was all just about me – that bitter taste in my mouth, and about looking back and regretting every single decision that culminated in this spectacular mistake that was A-Levels. Yet as I'm typing all of this out, I have to say that I'm done. So what if I have regrets? Instead of denying them like I always did in the past, I'm gonna have to wear them proudly on my sleeve as I move the hell on with life, and they're gonna have to be the tools that pave my way forward, not the weapons that I use to hurt myself. So what if I might actually be naturally incompetent compared to the others? I'm complete with my own limitations, and I'll simply have to make full use of whatever that's been handed to me. And as simple as it should have been, I will now see my mother's honest words as an encouragement.
For the first time in what has seemed like ages, I'm gonna tell myself here that yes, I believe in myself, in spite of everything that's happened and everything that's fallen apart. And to whoever's reading this, you should, too.
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