(taken from http://wordstuck.co.vu/)
It is slowly dawning upon me that now is the time when I really have to decide what type of adult I'm going to be. Am I going to be someone who writes letters and postcards to distant relatives and friends, going out of my way to buy stamps at the post office or do I let it go because I can say as much in a whatsapp message. Am I going to be the kind of person who still makes birthday cards for the people I care about or do I drop it because it is acceptable to be busy and because a phone call would suffice. It hits me suddenly on my way back home, on the bus, that my mother isn't going to handle relationships on my behalf anymore; I have to define my own manners, my own standards of what a human interaction must be like. Should I give up on getting something back from my trip overseas for my father because he's always projected that he doesn't need anything, laugh it off with a shrug because my spiritually inclined brother is so difficult to shop for or do I decorate his walls, his cupboards, his fridge, my parents' home ... my home with memories that I made alone but which have the whiff of me wishing they were there, that I always remember them. Will I get a cook and order take away when he takes a leave or will I let my house fill up with the aroma of my mother's recipe, let my friends and family savour the taste of her indulgent care, labor of love. Will I be able to protect and preserve the rituals that I grew up with, will I be able to create habits that could be of sacramental value, create a life peppered with beautiful metaphors.
Everyday, there is a future to be zealously vaguer about, that could just turn out to be like the salt accident in my coffee this morning if Im not careful; I hang in a precarious balance, leaning against a flimsy wall. The fact that I continue to densely treasure my loneliness, peek from under the luxury of my pessimism, and justify myself because I've just begun reading Nietzshe doesn't help.
