I know it has been a little while since my last post but the past few weeks have been eventful, to say the least… Where shall I start?
Well, first of all, congratulations are in order to my eldest sister on the birth of her beautiful new baby. I am now an Aunt to two little bundles of joy and couldn’t be happier, especially now that I have two mini people I can share my words of wisdom with, teach my special life hacks to and hopefully one day they’ll look up to me as someone they can turn to for advice and consolement (fingers crossed I will finally have it all figured out by then).
I would also like to take this moment to say how amazed and proud I am of my sister for doing it all over for the second time. As if having to do it once isn’t difficult enough, doing it a second time round is truly commendable (and also a little insane – but I’m just saying that because I obviously lack the endurance, strength and selflessness that she possesses).
Me, on the other hand, I’ve just about managed to secure a job and get my life into a somewhat normal routine and even that is proving to be a bit much. 4 weeks into working life and while I was adjusting surprisingly well into the pattern of a 40-hour week (emphasis on the word ‘surprisingly’ because I never thought I would last in such monotony), at times I found myself getting almost… I shudder to say it… bored! Not by the actual job itself but more by the repetitive routine that accompanies it (I’ve never pictured myself as a ‘living-for-the-weekend’ type of girl).
And because my words always come back to haunt me (and you know Sod’s law and all), it wasn’t long before I was wishing that such a thought hadn’t ever entered my mind to begin with. An incident, that I would much rather keep to myself so as to not bog you folks down with negativity, left me wistfully yearning that same mundane routine that I was taking for granted only a week ago (the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ springs to mind).
That, I think, is precisely the problem with myself and many others in my generation. We are so enthralled on living life on a constant high; thrill-seeking and in pursuit of excitement that we often tend to mistake the necessary periods of tranquility and orderliness for boredom. If the series of unfortunate events in my life have taught me anything, it is to never disparage two things: a peaceful life and peace of mind.
Having turned 25 exactly 98 days ago, I honestly thought that the maturity that comes with entering such an enlightened age (LOL) would automatically rid me of any regrettable indiscretions or unwarranted drama and negativity in my life. *Cue hysterical laughter*
No, all that nonsensical rubbish was a trait of my unmellowed 24-year-old self. Sairah at 25 would never dream of having any of it. I mean, with the countless screenshots of soulfully philosophical and motivational quotes stored in my photo gallery (poised to refer back to in times of self-affirmation or stupidity), you would think that I’d be steadfast in cutting any and all negativity out my life… Right?
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it is that not everyone you encounter in life is going to share the same morals, values or vision as you and similarly you have no control over the behaviour and actions of others. As I grow older, I am beginning to appreciate and value my time a lot more – whether that be choosing to spend it productively, mindfully selecting the people I choose to spend it with and using it to spread positivity. I am powerless over what others choose to do with their time but what I do have power over is my reaction to such people and situations and not allowing myself to focus or fuel them with energy that they quite frankly do not deserve.
For the 20-year-old me, it would have been totally understandable – excusable even – to fall victim to certain blunders. But I’ve been doing this adult thing for long enough now, yet if you think at this point that I might have mastered the concept… Think again. My judgement (or lack of it) in certain situations over the years is totally and utterly indefensible and I really do admire those who seem to have their whole life figured out so early on in life.
Take my elder sister as the perfect example. She really does seem to have her shit together (and has had since she was, like, 23). Only 3 years and 2 months my senior and yet here she is married with her young family in full swing, secure job, living in her own home, paying her own bills and holidaying twice a year with her cute little family unit. And then there is me… in my mid-twenties, still living at home with my Mum and a future as unpredictable as they come – it’s the stuff nauseating anxiety is made of. I partly have myself to blame for it but for the majority part, I blame education… Yes, that’s right because there’s nobody or nothing else to even remotely place the blame on.
I’ve spent the best part of my adult years so far waltzing my way through university like a beautiful dream only to be rudely awakened by the harsh tone of the alarm clock that is real-life (and all without the snooze button!) And while it may seem that this sweet dream has caused me to oversleep on reality, strangely enough, I don’t regret it a single bit.
Gone (but never to be forgotten) are the days where I was out raving twice a week (at least), free from any consequence, followed by a breakfast courtesy of Mcdonalds before returning home at an ungodly hour that any respected, hard-working adult would never speak of because they would be tucked up, fast asleep in bed recuperating for the busy day ahead.
No more are the days I would casually stroll out of bed at 1pm on a Wednesday only to haphazardly decide whether missing yet another day of lectures would have a dire outcome (more often than not I’d convince myself that it wouldn’t), and instead decide to treat myself to yet another undeserved day (or what was left of it) of pampering with a few fellow, loafing compadres, all the while being blissfully ignorant to our uncomplicatedly indulgent lifestyle.
I kiss goodbye to the days where I had a nice little present waiting for me in my bank account each semester. That’s right, this is the real world and in the real world the time that you once squandered in abundance is now a precious commodity – one that you must give up in exchange for rectangular pieces of paper with a woman’s face on it that determine whether or not you go hungry and/or homeless (screw you, capitalism!).
University is like that warm, fuzzy, bear hug your Mum gives you on your first day of school right before you say your goodbyes just to reassure you that everything is going to be okay. For those individuals who didn’t receive such a warm embrace prior to their entrance into adulthood, it can actually be a blessing. You had to brave it all on your own; none of the mollycoddling from Mommy bear which means that you are better prepared in surviving the cold, mean streets of adulthood as opposed to feeling like a new-born baby that has been abandoned on someone’s doorstep.
On the plus side, though, being a student is akin to having all the privileges of an adult without any of the dreaded responsibility and most probably the closest you will ever get to having the best of both worlds. (Oh what a life to live!) It is the only time in your life where it will ever be socially acceptable to roll up to lectures in a Me To You onesie (although I was never guilty of partaking in such practice); heat up last night’s dinner and eat it again for breakfast (guilty – many a time); and hibernate in your room for most of the winter watching re-runs of The Real Housewives on a TV for which you haven’t even paid a TV licence (shh.. you didn’t hear that last one from me).
With that being said, I would implore anyone who is still enjoying the dizzying highs of student life to milk it’s advantages as much as you can before you, like myself and countless others, one day inevitably bite the campus dust.