on being an adult

right now, i'm sitting down and having a cup of rooibos tea. i have been packing my things up, because i'm making another move. it feels that i still haven't settled down into what i'm supposed to be doing. this year, i have a plan, but who knows what this year will bring.

i have tried many times to come back here and write. there was a time that writing really helped me to express myself or at least it was an escape valve for all my varying thoughts. 

i have read so much during the years and i think there was a time i felt that i had something to say. lately, i haven't felt that way. maybe it's because i have nothing figured out and the people around me do. well, at least they pretend better than i do.

it's funny, when i was younger i used to think that being adult was more straightforward. i just find it more confusing and that i was certain about things then, that now i kind of wobble on. 

i guess it's normal. i have accepted that it's taken me longer to find out what i want. uncounsciously, i've let people guide me into doing things, when i didn't really think for myself. now i'm more cautious. one of my favorite books, sense and sensibility, used to make me want to be more like eleanor. she was the cool, collected and cautious. her sister, marianne, was the more spontaneous, romantic, impulsive one. i'd like to be both. so i'm trying to find a balance, as i navigate through this weird period. 

i'm sorry, i won't be able to capitalize letters, since my computer is slowly dying. i've had it for 6 years and i still won't be able to change it, anytime soon. 

i leave you, hoping that writing here will become a habit again...

Marianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what she did not feel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Elinor therefore the whole task of telling lies when politeness required it, always fell.

Sense and Sensibility, volume 1, chapter 21