Every now and then, I’d kick myself for not taking piano or dance lessons when I was younger. It’s not like my folks never allowed me to do them. Growing up, the passion wasn’t quite there. I was way more interested to watch TV, or play with my imaginary friends (no kidding). So it’s somewhat strange that I love it as much now. I’m constantly in awe of people who can create music, or create movements that are so fluid that it just seems to emanate naturally. I am envious. Yes.

Of course, I also understood, from a very young age, that discipline is not my forte. I’d be extremely excited about a new project/idea for a brief moment (a few months, at the most) then it would fade into oblivion. So, I guess I knew that I wouldn’t last very long in piano or dance class. Then, my folks would nag and give me a whole long lecture about giving up too easily, or wasting time and money… blah blah blah. “So, why give them the opportunity right? Might as well not go through with it at all,” I’d reason. And today, I have regrets. Go figure.

Looking back, I believe it’s the fear of realising that I suck. I have never seen myself as a perfectionist, but to an extent, I pride myself in being able to do things well – completely based on my own (low) standards, of course – especially if I have an interest in it. I just didn’t know if I had the talent for the arts, so this lack of confidence in my own creative abilities (not like I have much of it now) prevented me from delving into music and dance. I must have been too afraid that I’d be the worst in class, so I allowed that fear to call the shots. Oh if I could go back and do it all over again.

Sure, I can start taking lessons now. After all, don’t the proverbial people always say, “it’s never too late”? And it’s not like I have any commitments at all. But I do have a whole heap of excuses, which unfortunately, I never seem to be running out of. And then I realise these excuses are merely distracting me from the same issues I’ve always had – a lack of discipline and belief in myself. Oh my goodness. Can someone kick me already?

I’ve often been known to “over-commit”. I put that in quotation marks because it’s not something I personally believe it, but the phrase has been thrown at me by many different people, at many different points in time, over the years, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s true.

With my job, I don’t exactly get much time to relax on a daily basis. And because my job requires a high level of mental alertness, I’m usually quite drained by the time I get home. So I’m mostly unable to do anything else after 6pm. Occasionally, I’d arrange to meet up with friends, or go for dinner with colleagues. Most of the time, I just want to go home and do nothing. Nothing significant, at least.

Then the weekend approaches and I’ll have all these little things to do that can seem overwhelming at times; mostly because I’ve completely exhausted my weekly capacity by then to do anything that is even remotely challenging. Then I’d have all this guilt inside of me, wondering why I can’t even put aside a few hours each week to get these things done. And I’d hate myself for having all these feelings.

At this point, everything becomes emotional. I’d read an article about a girl meeting a celeb, and I’d want to cry. I’d read about a person buying her dream home, and I’d want to break down. Yes, it all seems a bit much, especially when you click on those links and see exactly what those two were about, then you’d probably wonder why I’m such a sook. I can’t explain it myself, but it’s like I can feel the emotions that these people are going through, and I’m just so happy for them y’know?

Yes, I don’t even know what I’m talking about.

I guess it’s just one of those days, huh?

So my visit to Brissie wasn’t as long as I would’ve liked (mostly because I have this little commitment called “work”) still, it was a good trip. After all, the main purpose of this trip was to catch up with everyone and hang out with my girls. And even though I treasured every single moment with them, it’s also made me realise that they’ve all grown older without me.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve not grown apart. I’m just no longer a big part of this life that they are now forging. And y’know what? It hurts. It hurts that I can’t be there to offer help during times of crisis, or share in their joy when they (finally) announce that they’re expecting or even something simple like offering my opinion when they’re choosing a piece of furniture. I just really want to be there for them. But I can’t.

I’m still grappling with the fact that they’re so far away now and we can only meet up as often as we’re able to travel to each other’s cities. And y’know, just as I hate not being there for their big moments, I also hate that they can’t be here to share mine. (Dia & Nessa, you girls had better stay local!)

The new semester begins tomorrow. It’s back to the routine of waking up before 6am & spending about 10 hours at work each day. Explain to me again why I’m not feeling excited?