Yesterday, as I read my friend’s post on missing out (on life, etc.), it somehow made me think of what I had been feeling as well, and a recent conversation I had with another friend about feeling out of sorts and being quite mindless of things, of life and its happenings. Each day seems to pass uneventfully, whether it really did or not, but I don’t actually feel that I have experienced anything, and the minutes and hours just fleet by in a blur, as days morph into weeks and months. It kind of feels like a burn out, yet to say that would be a complete irony because I don’t honestly see how my current state of work, or not, can burn me out. If any, it would be due to the incessant rumination of how I can actually get out of it that has caused the severe fatigue.
As the days pass, each and every single day that becomes another part of history, the flame of hope just seem to get dimmer that I wonder if it hasn’t been totally extinguished. I try to keep my faith and trust in God, as my friends have encouraged me, that it is all in His perfect timing that things will happen. Even friends who are non-believers try to egg me on sometimes, telling me that ‘good things happen to those who wait’, or practically they would advise that in such times, it will probably take time. It has been more than 2 years, and I try to ignore the nagging negativity that is festering within, to tell myself that there must be a reason and a purpose that I am here. But with each failed interview, with each bungled attempt in application, I just get more and more demoralised.
With the lack of enthusiasm and drive for anything that I do here and now, I have tried to find some meaning elsewhere, diverting my energy and thoughts outside, which have seen me pushing myself physically to my limits. Limits, because I think my body is not getting sufficient rest from sleep, not getting enough nutrients from the food that I eat, and not getting adequate recuperative time from yoga. It sounds silly, that while yoga is meant to be a restorative and relaxing practice, it has, directly or indirectly, caused me to become injured, which is not an isolated case. Whether it is yoga that has caused the injury to the gluteus that has resulted in complications such as muscle and hamstring, ITB tightness, or the recent case of bruised or perhaps even fractured ribs, and not forgetting the inflamed or overstretched hamstring many years ago that left me out of action for at least a month, I don’t know if I am pushing myself too hard. But then again, what is considered pushing myself too hard? Is attending one yoga class per day considered too much? It shouldn’t be because there are many others who are doing much more than me, and some of them or many of them are even older in terms of chronological age. So what really is the problem?
This shuttling back and forth the yoga studios, plus the weekly Japanese language class that I was taking, have somehow drained me of all energy that when asked how I was enjoying my new home, I could only draw a blank. I have not had the time to think about enjoying it. Each day, I return home to veg out in front of the television after work, if not to partake in some simple household chores. I am hardly at home on weekends because I would be attending yoga class, and then I would either be off to my parents’ place or out having coffee and attending service. Like how we eat mindlessly without savouring the taste and texture of the food that goes into my mouths and down our throats, I am living in my new home without relishing the moments that I spent in it. I compare my home to other new homes that I see, whether they belong to my friends or to strangers who have posted photos online, and feel that my home pales in comparison. It is nowhere near to the kind of thought process that they had invested to designing and ‘building’ it up. I can only blame myself for not taking the effort to do so, that I ended up with a sub-par product, but with many things already cast in stone, so to speak, I don’t really have a choice now.