The months, July and August, have been excruciating this year. It was filled with many sleepless nights, many of which I found myself deep in thoughts about things. Things that happened in the past. Things I regret. Things I regret regretting. I supposed they were a grim reminder of my own “downfall”: my horribly unsatisfiable Cambridge A-levels. There were other things too, but they all fall under the great category of how uncertain and potentially bleak my future is. What’s my plan now? What do I want to be? Where would I go now?
I have been dreading catch-up sessions with my friends. They were losing purpose. They were killing me. It was as if a small part of me went *poof* and vanished into thin air. But they were not entirely unenjoyable. Chats about university life were fun. I liked how my friends describe their campuses, the people they meet, their lectures and the new platforms available for them to explore their interests. This is a funny feeling, to feel both immensely proud that their perseverance paid off yet jealous because I could never be like them. (Or can I?) I am also guilty for being so ever sensitive.
We hear this statement rather frequently, ” To live with no regrets”. Victoria Beckham said it in her 73 questions Vogue interview in her shop in New York (I think). Even recently at the VMAs 2015 which featured the famous spat between Nicki and Miley, who the latter proclaimed that she was ok even when she did not win the VMAs back in 2008.
And there was this period of time, where I wanted to live by this motto. Possibly because I have been intoxicated by the famous celebrities who used them excessively, or perhaps it was because this motto gave off a sense of fulfilment to stand with confidence against all adversity.
I have reflected countless times.
So what if I screwed up and wasted my time in Junior College? I still made friends. I still gained invaluable experiences. I discovered my passion for hosting. What is wrong?
And then, it came to me in one of the nights over the last few months and has haunted me ever since.
All these are fragments of my deluded reassurance.
Why put on a facade? Who am I to say that I am fine? Why the constant reassurance? More importantly, how is there no regrets in life?
The things is, there are regrets. Be it the Beige leather jacket that you forgo buying, or the excursion to the zoo that you skipped to go to the arcade, or the chances you did not had the audacity and balls to take, or the decision made to quit the high-paying job to take care of your young children. (Don’t come barging at me with the argument stating how priceless it is to see your young one grows. I’m not denying it. But regret is a feeling; it is undeniable.)
No doubt I am at the age where mistakes are very frequently made, more often due to our inexperience rather than our foolishness. No one is irrational. Even madmen and sociopaths have logic. It is all about the perspective.
The truth is, I regret my choice of junior college. Things would have been better elsewhere – the people I get to meet, the activities I joined, the potential achievements, even my physique too. But what is the point to playing the “what if” game and cry over spilled milk? Nothing can change. Nothing can override the fact that my lacklusterness, my irresponsibility and immaturity were crucial elements to my pitfall.
I am the master of my destiny. I hold the future in my hands. At the end of the day, I make the difference. You see, I am the culprit.