So, here we are again, Self.
Somehow, we've found ourselves in a place we've never been before. The things we've planned for ourselves didn't tick away the way we'd expected or wished or dreamed for ourselves.
Change of plans. Again.
It's now or never, Self.
Self, don't fail me now...that's what I feel like is going on.
All these moments of clarity. But the fact that everything is always subject to change is a bit scary.
Fear of failure is even bigger than before - because I've been to the dance before, I've become the jaded cynic in the Los Angeles landscape of hopes and dreams. If anything, I've learned that my time in LA wasn't a fluke. I'm almost 30 now and I'm choosing to go back; I choose to make LA my home.
Plus, I hate the cold.
I'm 28 years old. I've definitely felt like a failure at different milestones and done quite a lot of things that didn't pan out well. I've taken risks, I've taken leaps of faith. And I thought fear of failure was something I had before - little did I know that its magnitude would only grow, dormant but building all the while it quietly sat inside of my insecurities.
Am taking another leap of faith. Am now going to pursue a completely new career while getting back to pursuing my real one - the one that it's all for, the one that makes it all worth it - my dream to become a writer.
The disastrous and volatile nature of the real estate market is what I'm jumping into. At least the office I'm joining seems pretty supportive and friendly and great and all, welcomes me in. I haven't told my parents yet - best not to give them something to nag and obsess about and criticize and just give them the news after I've proven myself and they have little to fret and harp upon. If I'm going to have a day job, it's at least going to be one with a ton of flexibility. But it'll be tough in the beginning, learning the ropes, establishing my network, actually earning my first few commissions, et cetera.
And all of that is simply to support my career as a writer. And now, stand-up comedy career. Which really goes back to the crux of being a writer: stand-up comics are really writers.
No, I'm not sure how this will all pan out. And yes, I'm a bit terrified that it'll be a passing whim that may not amount to much of anything except for a learning experience. But I'm giving it my best.
I admit it, I've got fears. I've struggled and continue to struggle with discipline as a writer. I've been depressed. I'm probably depressed right now. I have stress acne.
I'm not a kid anymore. I don't sit pretty with the fact that I'll be crashing on a friend's couch until I find an apartment. I just can't handle crashing at a friend's place (even whilst visiting from out of town) because I've gotten too old to be comfortable with that anymore. So, I uncomfortably stay at a friend's while I uncomfortably begin a new career that will take time before it supports my real career, while I develop my real passion and career as a writer, until that takes off and I can quit everything else and just write.
It's all very humbling.
God, you really keep wanting me to rough it. If not in a foreign country, then you keep the road pretty bumpy if I'm back in the good ol' US of A.
It's been so stressful living back in my parents' house, and I honestly will have to say that I can feel a resentment building. The disappointment and hurt I have toward my mother is a big ass brick wall of baggage, resulting in more budding resentment. As an adult, you become more perceptive of people, how they are, their personalities, their communication skills, patterns of behavior, nuances of moods and speech and all that crap.
Another reason this move to LA - and getting out of the house - is a good thing. No - a great thing. I don't want to hate my parents. What sucks is that there's so much damage that's been done to the relationship I have with my mother - I see all of her flaws. It does make it more real, though.
Ignorance would be bliss. But I live in the real world. And in the real world, I see the extremely hurtful way my mother communicates toward me and the relentless way in which she doesn't listen to anything I say. And then, I realize, that this is how she has parented me for 28 years, this is how she is as a mother toward her daughter, this is how she shows love, this is why part of who I am and certain aspects of my personality are the way they are: she is practically ruffian in her caustic and perpetual negative criticisms of me. It is cultural, it is her personality; it is largely the nature of many female Asian women towards their children.
The worst part is that she doesn't listen to me when I call her out on it: I tell her that most of her words spoken are negative criticisms of me and rarely, rarely, ever positive. She doesn't listen to me; she hears me, and then asserts, every single time I've mentioned it or called her out on it, that I'm being oversensitive. Wouldn't you think, if you've heard something a million times from someone, that there might be a shred of truth in it? Or, if someone repeats something to you, about something they find completely hurtful and damaging, they want you to CHANGE and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT? But she keeps brushing it aside, doesn't listen, because, even though I'm almost 30 years old, I'm her daughter, she sees me as a child, treats me as such, and asserts that I'm being oversensitive, and since I'm her kid, that what I say has no validity to it. Like a fucking toddler.
I just want her to shut up. Listen. Actually stop, shut up, and listen. Seriously. Because if you're my mother, and I keep getting hurt by your words, wouldn't you want to stop hurting me? Or is it easier to deny that I'm right, because then it would mean admitting to the fact that everything you say is damaging negative criticism and has been for 30 years?
And thus her acerbic criticisms continue. And suddenly I have a flashback of how I grew up, of me being this little kid and never hearing positive words from my mother, the sole and most influential presence in my life since my workaholic absent father was little seen or heard.
Even today, now, at moments when it crosses my mind, I get upset. So I try not to think about it - or else I'll get too worked up over it.
I'm really looking forward to moving to LA. Get my career established, get writing, get noticed. And, getting the hell out of my parents' house. And, the dating pool is dry over here. I'll admit it - I've been lonely. I want a boyfriend. I want a real man in my life, someone who's there for me. A man, not a boy. I want to start dating again - where there are actually single men around.
You never know when you'll try something new. These are unexpected times. I really want to settle in my career, though.
God, help me.
