my half-empty glass.

I have been meaning to write for a while now. I have fifteen unfinished, unpolished, unimpressive drafts saved that will remain so. I always used this blog as a template. A template to structure feelings in my head that were too complex to stay in. Lately my life has been stagnant, I’ve struggled to find a reason to write though I wanted to. My life has reverted to a monotony that I spent years running away from.

I recently realised that I dislike routine. I dislike having a schedule and my everyday life aligning with it. I dislike having structure but at the same time I also dislike my life being disrupted. I dislike straying away from what I “should” be doing. I dislike diversions from what I am familiar with.

I dislike both monotony and spontaneity. But recently, I have had both.

What do I like then? I don’t know the answer to that. It has always been easy for me to understand what I don’t like, but I struggle to say the same for what I do like. It took me 18 years to realise that my favourite colour is pink, but I have always known that I hated green, brown, grey, and magenta among so many others.

I have had a complex relationship with monotony. For most of my life, it is all I have ever known and I eventually found comfort in routine. l derived my happiness from the little things because my life itself was an uninteresting, mundane mess.

A memory from high school that I found so much comfort in was looking through the windows of the neighbouring building at 3 am. I had my tea in my hand and watched a purple lit room always obscured by a translucent curtain. Beside it, a brighter, white room that always had a woman mopping the floor. I sat staring at lonesome traffic cones and hospital windows. I found solace in the silent routine of people I will never know. The only sound was of the occasional gust of wind and the sirens of an ambulance. The mornings were filled with chaotic monotony, while the nights brought with it a peaceful spontaneity. Yin and Yang, they were two halves of an organised whole. Together it was a reminder of how structured everyone’s lives were. This is one of my favourite memories from Chennai, it is a memory that grounded me, a memory that helped me cope with the tediousness of my own life.

This memory is one that harbours emotions that I still can’t fully grasp. I have tried to make sense of why it means as much to me as it does, but I don’t think I will ever be able to communicate just how important it is to me. It is my most unremarkable memory but it is also one with some of the most profound feelings.

As much as I enjoyed “window watching” as I called it, I yearned for the day I couldn’t promise you where I will be. At Chennai, I could narrate my everyday life by the second. At 3 am, you will always find me at my silent corner, sipping my peppermint tea. Always.

My contentment came from the most random instances because that is the only variety I had. I waited earnestly at my corner hoping that one day, the colour of the purple room would change to something different, something new, something unexpected. It never did, it always stayed the same, but I was never one to complain, and deep down I was glad it never changed. I found comfort in the certainty whilst still yearning for new experiences. I was content with what I had, but I also wanted more.

I have always wanted more. My glass is always half empty, I cling onto everything I do not have and fail to recognise everything that is beautiful in my life. I yearn for more when I already have so much. I want everything I do not have, I want everything that I could have, I want everything that everyone else has. “Onto the next” is what my mantra has been through high school and now through university. Who am I if not a product of my expectations for my future and the weight of my past. And because of this, I constantly wallow in unwarranted self-pity. I would wish on every shooting star to unlearn this.

I hated the repetitiousness of my life, so at university I found the eventfulness I craved. But then I got burnt out. I hated the restrictions on what I can and cannot do, so at university I detached myself from every constraint. But then I felt overpowered by my free will. I hated the unspoken schedule of my everyday life, so at university I do whatever I want, whenever I want to. But then I felt too overwhelmed by the decisions I make.

I have struggled and continue to struggle with finding a balance between monotony and spontaneity. I am frustrated by both, but that is because I am unsure of what I want, I do not know what I like, I only know what I dislike. And I truly hope that someday I will understand myself better.

Nevertheless, I am still more content today than I was yesterday. I am happy that I was able to escape my window corner though there is still so much more that I yearn to leave behind. Instead of waiting at my window watching corner to escape the monotony, I now wait to be rid of my half empty glass. And I live for the hope that one day, my glass will be half full.