Two Months Since I Moved to SF

It had been two months since I moved to SF for the dream job, and I was feeling especially homesick. Before, when I had just made the move, the novelty of the situation distracted me from missing everyone back at home, but now that the newness was starting to wear off, I was beginning to wonder if I had made the right move, if this job was in fact a dream job, and whether it was worth the alone-ness I felt everyday.


Because I was feeling lonely, or perhaps because there’s a masochistic part of me that likes to pick at scabs, I was flipping through Instagram and Facebook, trying to see how other people’s lives were so much more fulfilling than mine was.  Pictures of all the happy people with their families, with their boyfriends, with their friends running marathons, doing awesome things with their awesome lives.


I scrolled through several photos in a rush, but one made me stop. It was a picture of an acquaintance from high school, pretty petite Annie, the Annie whom every girl envied because she got all the guys’ attention, the Annie whose life seemed more fantastic than ours (that is, the regular, ugly people) just because she’s so attractive... She was having a baby.


And… I felt the familiar feeling of antsiness set in.


Then I started to question my life.

What am I doing with my life?

What am I doing here in SF when my husband and the bunny and friends and family are all down in LA?

Maybe I should be thinking of starting a family, like, right now.

What if I never have a baby, and I become old, penniless and there’s no one to take care of me? Social Security is supposed to dry up before it’s my turn to collect.


Sometimes, my life feels like one long never-ending day.


Everything is a routine,

everything is the same,

everything is empty,

everything is boring,

everything has no significance,

everything has no big, grand meaning.


Maybe with all choices in life, there are regrets, unhappiness, and dissatisfaction.

Maybe everyone feels like they’re missing out, no matter what they have going on in their life right now.

Maybe it’s not only me who feels that everyone else has meaning in their lives except for me.


If you really think about it, maybe, really, everything has no meaning.

Maybe it’s just an illusion I’m chasing after,

this great dream of mine,

the career aspirations,

the relief at the end,

the happiness I’m promised when I’m finally “there,” all an illusion.



Maybe all the meaning I have is

right now

right here

right in this moment

right in this space.


Maybe the only meaning in life is when I’m fully myself.

when I’ve finally escaped from the prison of my own ego

and is free, free, free to be totally, utterly, joyously me.

Pure me...


Just me...

Love, peace, joy that are all me.

And then, the world would become my playground. I wouldn’t fear so much when I speak to people, or worried that I would say something offensive or they would say something that’ll make me uncomfortable. I would say anything I wanted with joy.

I would shift the air in the room with my mere presence.


So maybe, it’s not what I do.

Maybe, the meaning is in how I do it.

Maybe, the meaning is in doing everything purely the way I want to do it, without any restriction, with absolute freedom, not minding anyone or anything.

Just be fully in the moment, doing everything without any inhibition.

Without wondering how it looks like on the outside.

Without worrying how I look like to others.

Maybe I’m not me that I think.

Maybe I’m not supposed to be what I think I’m supposed to be.

Maybe all I’m supposed to be is LOOSE.

Maybe the meaning of life comes when I surrender to Life.

Maybe it’s ok to loosen up, let life gently stir me according to its current.



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