The best kind of vacation

… is one that has no fixed itinerary, one that is absolutely flexible and where you wake up each morning just thinking of where to go for the morning coffee fix, and which serves a nice delicious sandwich to go with the fragrant cuppa.

Such is the kind of vacation that I enjoy, which is a pattern of holding I’ve somehow fallen into since years ago. Traveling solo makes it even more tantalizing with the lack of encumbrance in coordinating plans and schedules, detailing a checklist of things to do, places to visit, food to eat, etc.

It offers me complete latitude to decide on how I want to spend every waking minute, what to expend my calories on, how much I want to walk or sit. It doesn’t matter if I’m imbibing too much caffeine, stuffing my face with too much bread, not eating any local fare, checking out attractions.

Maybe it points to my phobia of commitment and unwillingness to plan or step beyond my comfort zone, but it is so liberating to not have to think and overthink, to just go with the flow and spend time doing only things that I want to do – walk, drink coffee and eat bread or cake, read. Rinse and repeat. It’s such bliss that it pains me to have to bid of adieu and fall back to a reality I don’t want to face. But such trips need to be sustained by a regular and decent income. Such trips need funding. And it is through those unenjoyable and mundane activities known as employment, which eats away at my soul each and every single day, that the resources can be accumulated and channeled towards this fleeting sense and experience of peace and joy.

Cloud surfing

Simple breakfasts among the local residents

Till the next time.

Never in a state of feeling well

I’m not sure what chronic fatigue should seem/feel like but what I experience daily does feel like what I would describe as such.

Each morning when the alarm jolts me from the REM state, I’ll be in the midst of some deep, whether vivid, dramatic or bizarre, and the body that’s still in its sleep state feels like a heavy slab of marble that wants to continue sinking into the mattress. My head feels heavy with slumber and my limbs refuse to move. I drag myself out of bed after indulging in some screen time that I know I shouldn’t but the routine is to tap into the couple of game apps I use to complete the day’s game and extend my streak, and check on my sleep for the night before, often grimacing when I note that my deep sleep is miserably low.

As I ready myself, the simple activities of brushing my teeth and putting on some basic skincare feel laborious.

The 13-minute or so walk to the train station, on days when I have to carry the laptop in a backpack slung over my pair of aching shoulders, can feel like a 10km road march, especially on humid, balmy mornings that we will probably have more of in the months to come, with global warming not helping much.

The day goes by in a blur. My mind seems to be in a constant state of brain fog, unable to really concentrate on things for long, unable to focus on the yoga class and enjoy it for what it is and flow but instead choosing to nitpick on the trivia things like the lukewarm heat and lackluster flow. I only want to wait for the time when I get to have time after the afternoon yoga class to have lunch and hope that it’ll take me through to late afternoon so that I can then proceed to pack up and head home, to put together some simple dinner and indulge in snacking thereafter while I scroll through social media and some blog feeds.

The evening ends with me having too much screen time that probably affects my sleep quality. And the cycle repeats itself.

Healing is never linear

Indeed. I wondered how many ups and downs it takes, and how many ups and downs I’ve been through since I first started experiencing such moods. I wondered as well, that does one ever heal? Whether it’s from depressive states, whether it’s from eating disorders, whether it’s from other kinds of psychological challenges?

The most recent episode of therapy saw us discussing the notion of moving forward and on. The book that I read, about the philosophy of Freud vs Adler, one of their differences being that one is backward looking to the causes I.e. etymology, while the latter is forward-looking and focuses on what one can do with what one has and has to do in life – teleology.

While I acknowledge that things have happened or not in childhood that due to my disposition to need more emotional support and validation, have led my to succumb to people pleasing tendencies, to be susceptible to going round in circles to always make concessions for people who don’t value me as a person and take advantage of this trait of mine… I need to acknowledge and accept and empathise with my family members, who had to probably deal with their own issues and act based on their own capacity and issues then. It perhaps is about extending “forgiveness” to them so that I can let go of the resentment and bitterness that had built up within and always resurfaces whenever something triggering happens.

I contemplated distancing myself, isolating myself, even if we’re in physical proximity. But I’m not just someone like that. Even if I feel that we have a dysfunctional relationship and I don’t feel like we behave like family, I still crave and want to have that kind of bond with them. I couldn’t bring myself to it. I don’t want to cause my parents to be sad. And I know my brothers have their own set of demons to deal with, I assume. Or have I just been too magnanimous? Being of the male species and probably not so receptive to the idea of seeking mental help, or in the first place not even acknowledging that they would need some form of therapy to heal from any childhood sadness, I should sympathise with them, shouldn’t I, and extend grace and love to them.

They aren’t bad siblings. In fact, I would rate them above average, and exemplary specimens of the male species. I’ve read so much about bad siblings, partners… that my brothers seem to be angels in comparison.

And so… with that, I did spend a rather peaceful and somewhat enjoyable yuan xiao with my family and nephew, with my SIL away on a mission teaching trip.

Maybe one day, I will be able to truly heal from this. Perhaps.

Peace and quiet

While I enjoy going out and being out and about, and can’t stay at home for an entire day (Covid period was probably one of the most trying times although I still managed to head out daily for morning walks but the 7-day isolation period when I contracted Covid was the worst case of cabin fever), I also do enjoy staying at home sometimes when it’s nice and quiet.

I don’t like loud noises; loud noises grate on my nerves and overwhelm my senses profoundly. It’s the dead of the night, when I awake to use the restroom; the early hours of the mornings when I awake to head for a yoga class; it’s those witching hours of the afternoon when most people are out at work or out at play on weekends… these are the moments I live for at home, savouring the tranquility and enjoying the little ambient sounds that blend well with the environment without breaking the veneer of peace.

It’s also much quieter here. Maybe I’d been presumptuous to claim that I enjoy having interactions, having a “community” to engage with, assuaging my ego and my wounded soul with likes and hugs on my posts. It was like bonus day came early when someone even empathises with the neuroticism that is me.

Yet it’s only when things go awry, when the space doesn’t seem as safe as it purports to be or what I had thought it to be, it’s then that I am rudely awakened from my stupor, that it’s not what it seems, that at the end of the day, a peaceful and quiet enclave, this then is the kind of haven that suits a battered spirit like mine.

All good things come to an end

Feeling a tad overwhelmed.

What was meant to be a safe space, a safe haven.. for me to share, to rant, vent and interact, has kind of turned its fangs on me and bit me hard.

It perhaps cautions me against overhearing, to anyone, to any listening ears or watching eyes. We never really know how another person interprets what’s been shared, passes it on, or metes out a judgment on it.

No one can ever really empathize with what you alone are going through. Someone who has undergone similar experiences can commiserate to a certain extent and be kind but someone who has never had to put up with the demons of the mind tormenting them, will never ever be able to understand and don’t think twice or bat an eyelid when making judgments that aren’t fair and informed.