emotional compass: navigating the feelings I should have felt


incipient: beginning to exist or appear; in an initial stage

You know when you read a book you can’t put down? A book that just takes you away from life itself, far off into another world, another land, another person’s life. That’s what Dark Matter by Blake Crouch did for me. It was exactly what I needed even though it’s a strange thing to dissect.

Why would someone who has uprooted their life to live far away from their home need a book to transport them away from this life, too? Wouldn’t their reality be enough? Wouldn’t this new objective world that they live in be its own source of satisfaction?

I’ve been wondering the same thing. Why I needed that. Why I still do.

Maybe because in a weird way, even books I have never read are familiar to me. Books have always honed this aura of comfort. They have their way of bringing me home, no matter where that be. Just the act of holding one in my hands, flipping through the pages, reading through the night, knowing I have to wake up early but so badly wanting to know what happens next. So maybe it’s not that a book I’ve never read is familiar to me, but the feeling of reading it is what I always need to feel comfortable anywhere that I am in my life.

I guess it’s slowly creeping up on me, the fact that I don’t know anyone here. The fully fledged feeling itself hasn’t sunk in, but I can sense it’s arrival approaching my way. There are small figments of knowing I should feel lonely, but I don’t yet. I guess because the reality of my situation hasn’t clicked.

Yesterday morning was emotional and I didn’t quite know why. I tried to hold myself back from crying at work and managed to do so by convincing myself that tears didn’t make sense in this moment. I guess with the chaos, the busyness, the fast-paced energy of the uproot – all of it happened so quickly that I haven’t processed it the right way. So I find myself in moments alone, slowly allowing the feelings I was supposed to feel to seep through. They need a path to sink in so that they can go through me. I have a hard time with these feelings, mostly because they come to me at odd times. Times that it wouldn’t make sense to be feeling them. My logical self wants so badly to push past them, coining them irrational. But every other part of me knows I should let them in.

So I found that reading is the best thing for me right now. It’s the perfect in-between source where I will allow myself to feel whatever it is that I need to feel. When something sad is happening to a character, I’ll burst out into tears. Maybe not fully because of that, but also for myself. I let books come to me. If I feel myself gravitating towards it, I know it must have something I need and it always does. Dark Matter did that for me and the next book I read will, too.

Sometimes we need books that way. That’s why we all interpret them differently. It’s because we read them from the state of being that we are currently in, and that’s also why they tend to resonate with us. It’s because we want them to, and they listen.

Right now, as I try to navigate my emotions while trying to not burden them too much with my illogical rationality, I’ll be here reading.

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diluted air: great things happen more than once


There’s this sea of calm in the air everywhere I go and I have to admit that every change comes with an adjustment, even if it’s a good change. I’m used to busy people rushing through the streets. I’m used to speed-walking, getting pushed to the side as I try to glide my way to work. I’m used to small towns and busy lives. I’m used to waiting for time to pass. Lingering for more moments like the ones I get to experience every day now. It’s an odd thing for me, this life.

It hasn’t set in yet that this life is mine. I walk around like it’s a game and I’m a novice player, making her first attempt. I laugh when I walk by thrift stores, scouring over the home goods that can now have a place in my own apartment. “It’s funny,” I think, because I can’t get myself to believe that any of this is real. That this isn’t just a figment of my imagination or an unconscious dream-like state that I’m in. That this is my reality.

They say this is what happens when you are in the midst of big moments of your life. Maybe this is how you get through them. Maybe this is how you’re not driven to complete insanity. Because you just can’t make sense of it yet. That this is it. This has happened. This is what your life looks like now. You’re married to this person. Or, you’ve had a baby. Or like in my case, you’ve moved across the country by yourself and don’t know anyone or anything here.

I wonder sometimes if this is a glimpse back into what childhood felt like. You’re constantly stimulated by everything around you because everything is new. You’re in awe of this new world, of the simple things. The things that no one else really pays attention to because either they’ve seen it too many times or perhaps they’ve never really looked.

I try to hold myself back from hugging every tree, brushing every hint of green that surrounds me (for the sake of not looking like a crazy person). I don’t know exactly how I fit in here just yet, but somehow none of that matters. Maybe it’s because I finally get to live here being this version of myself. Maybe it’s that I get to decide what kind of life I want or how I want to live it. But I guess everything just feels limitless. Like boundaries seize to exist anymore.

I feel like I’ve left a small world that was so comforting and familiar and entered into something far bigger than myself. Something that seems so out of reach, even though I’ve already arrived. I remember a time when I circled around a thought that nearly paralyzed me but also kept my hope alive. It was: There has got to be more to life than this.

I think I found the more.

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new beginnings and old nostalgia


I’ve been living amidst my own gratitude and nostalgia simultaneously. It’s an odd thing to move to a new place, not knowing a single person. A place you’ve never been before. Being a person you’ve never been before. Change can be overwhelming, even if it’s what you’ve needed for so long.

I know it’s been a week or so since I’ve written on here. It’s actually been a week or so since I’ve written at all, which has been hard. It’s hard to reflect when there’s so much going on all around you. Settling into a new place. Meeting new people. Starting a new job. Living on your own.

The heartbreaking part about beginnings are that they come with an ending of something else. The freshness, the constant stimulation of novelty, it comes with a throbbing of the heart. I miss my people. I miss the family I created. I miss the familiarity. I miss the foundation that built me.

At some point, we all have to leave our comfort zones and I’m usually stuck in the middle of craving adventure and wanting to keep what I have created for myself where I am. There’s this eagerness of change that battles alongside this fear of loss. But this loss that I feared isn’t all I’ve made it out to be in my head.

I’m still connected to everyone I love and everyone I’ve met in my home. Now is just time for further growth. For more adventure. For something new.

I’m excited to record and keep track of all the beautiful moments that come with moving out west in Vancouver. But the most important thing I’ve learned is that if you work hard, if you believe, and if you focus on your goal, you can make it happen despite what people may tell you.

The first thing that would come out of people’s mouths when I told them about this move was “good luck with higher taxes and greater expenses!”. Super encouraging, right? So I stopped telling people because their words got in my head and I didn’t want to defend my life path to anyone, let alone a stranger.

What I’ve learned is that what is meant for you will make space for you. It can’t be taken by anyone else. This place was waiting for me and I really believe that. Mostly because I didn’t choose it. For years I’ve been planning to live in Europe and somehow in a conversation blurted out that I was moving to Vancouver which shortly afterward, I took back because I didn’t know where the hell that came from. And then boom! It happened. I did it. I’m here.

Sometimes that’s how life is. You plan for something, you make goals, but you have to stay open to any altercations because, at the end of the day, we don’t know what is best for us. If we trust in the universe enough, we’ll let it guide us there.

So cheers to new beginnings and this new journey.

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