The other day, I thought I'd go out and get some semblance of peace. It was the perfect time for a jog at the wharf, when the tide was at its high, and the sky was clear enough for anyone to get lost in. Somehow I wished the waves that rock against the pavement would just come and wash away the anxiety I have been wrestling with that day as well.
It was nothing new. I have been operating on autopilot most of the week-- most of the time immersed in ticking checkbox after checkbox on my to-do list and getting frustrated if I can't. From these words alone, you get the idea that my ego have been working overtime to hold itself together.
But when I look at this place at a particularly good day, I get to let my guard down for a moment and breathe. I find myself getting drawn to moments like these-- moments where I could let down my walls and let go of the pressure of having to deliver, pretend, and hustle. Maybe that is all I will ever need these days-- a sense of safety.
Safety and security is much more difficult to come by these days than whatever hifalutin concept we have on love.
There used to be a time in my life when I was young, naïve and a bit of a romantic that all I will ever need in this life is love (particularly the romantic kind). I was one of the many that bought into the idea that (romantic) love is scarce and it's the only thing that is going to provide a sense of meaning and purpose. However, when we are asked what it looks like-- what it tangibly looks like and feels like-- most people can't deliver a proper answer, and the answers we have already received from childhood weren't enough.
We live in a world where the idea of love is so warped: where we are taught that our sense of purpose and fulfillment can be found in other people who are as flawed and prone to a plethora of mistakes as we are, where we expect other people to fill a gaping hole in ourselves that we don't even have the capacity to fill-- so there's the longing, the distrust, and the ever-so-familiar crawling sense of unworthiness that jeopardize and sabotage every opportunity of gaining what we long for.
Ironically though, people hold on to these concepts of apocalyptic/destructive love, mainly because we think we don't have it enough "This is as good as it's gonna get" when in fact, love comes abundantly and exists in many forms: we are surrounded by it, we breathe it, we bask in its glory but we also take it for granted.
Love should feel safe.
Love should feel secure.
Love allows you to take up space.
Love allows you to flow.
Maybe that's the reason why I am particularly drawn to the sea. It could be that maybe it's just because I grew up in it-- My house is basically a kilometer away from the shore but I'd like to think it's more than that. The place is tainted with memories of my siblings, my mother and I splashing and swimming at the wee hours in the morning during my formative years.
I love the sea because of what it represents-- depth and vastness. Beyond the aesthetic value of where the sky meets the sea is a whole other world.
Its vastness could drown out my list of unhealthy tendencies: the ill thoughts I have of myself, the ill thoughts I have of the world, and all the ill thoughts in between. Its depth serves as a reminder of all the things I will never be aware of, despite being in this intentional journey of awareness.
I might never completely figure things out though. I might never be fully satisfied with the answers I will receive. I can only lean in closer to closer to my goals, my wants, my needs, to what I think is the healthiest version of myself-- a version where I would thrive and bring out the best of the people around me, to where I want to be, to the life I want to live, similar to a point in a graph working towards an asymptote, and never quite get to that point of satisfaction... and it will all turn out okay.
It's not like we exist in this world with a guarantee of how things are going to turn out. While there are many things we can do within our grasp, a huge chunk of the outcome is entirely at the mercy of fickle chance.
"It is what it is"
Somehow, this quote turned out to be the quite theme of the season, and I am learning to sieve through what I should hold on to, and what I should let go and be washed away in the waves.
A certain shame is associated with the art of letting go. All the more in my case where it somehow doesn't align with majority of people's expectations of me, and yes, people would regularly point that out as I am usually the person who handles the aspects of her life with a grip (not a pole-dancing reference) of cut-throat tenacity.
There are only a few people who saw through my barrage of self-imposed deadlines, projects, my "golden girl" conditioning, denial, and unecessarily self-betraying list of tasks. Most stand-by, observe, and sometimes use it as an opportunity to have items ticked off on their check list. Quite a handful though helped me comb through all of it at times when my bandwidth could not accomodate anymore. I'm grateful for the presence of both.
Maybe I could get by with a little help from the latter, by also being receptive of the lessons brought upon by the former, and by being present in pockets of moments like these when they present themselves.
Maybe it will help drown out the hurt,
maybe it will all be what anyone will ever need.
Roxanne Marie is the twenty-year-old something who calls herself the Protean Creator.
She is a chemical engineer by profession, pole-dancer and blogger by passion and frustration, and lastly, a life enthusiast. She is on a mission to rediscover her truth through the messy iterative process of learning, relearning and unlearning. Currently, she works as a science and research instructor in her hometown, Tagbilaran City, all the while documenting her misadventures, reflections and shenanigans as a working-class millennial here on Hive.
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