Nope. I’m not [really] going to talk about my old shirts nor am I selling them because, frankly, they’re as good as rags. However, I still keep them. Viewing it from another’s perspective, I guess those shirts represent something metaphoric. I’ll tell you what . . .
It just came to me while sorting out my laundry why I’m always washing one of my ratty old shirts — the one that looked like it got caught in a mine field with multiple holes in it (and I never bother to sew them close or mend them), almost threadbare with the faded logo of something in front (that I couldn’t remember what) from frequent washing. I just realized that for more than 15 years, I’ve been wearing and washing the darn thing at least once a week and it looked so pitiful yet I can’t seem to let go of it.
It’s because despite its depressing condition, it’s comfortably soft from wear and it makes me sleep better at night.
In a way, that ratty old shirt represents my comfort zone. I’ve had it for so long that I don’t even know if I’ll have the balls to throw it away anytime soon — not for sentimental reasons though.
That thought ushered the question: Why is it so difficult to let go of something comfortable . . . something familiar . . . of something old and not as functional as when I first had it?Continue reading Ratty Old Shirts→
I’ve been rather neglectful in posting something — anything — for the past couple of weeks. I can blame it to the catastrophe that struck my country recently and the survivor’s guilt I was beset with after seeing numerous pictures of the poor, unfortunate souls who are still struggling to survive to this moment . . . whilst I tap my shaky fingers on my keyboard.
Anyway, there are plenty of things to blame for my neglect. And that includes my recently emptied head. After all, I can’t always have a lot of pertinent stuff to share.
Somehow, tragedy — even if I was indirectly involved — leaves the brain cleanly swept for no other reason than the lack of significant topics to ponder on. Inasmuch as I would like to rant on and on about the injustice nature strikes us with, I cannot for fear that I will be rightfully certified as a cuckoo-coo-choo.
Just imagine a person having one foot on each side of two states, straddling a state-line or a demarcation line. That’s what I am and those who were born in the same year I have (or at that age bracket) are considered generation straddlers.
I recently had a conversation with a dear friend about having a hard time defining which generation we belong to. You see, we were born in a very strategic year where we straddle two great decades that made a huge impact on the world as we know today.
Spending my formative years between the 80s and the 90s was both enlightening and confusing. Those two decades can be viewed like an antithesis of each other. The boldness of the 80s versus the minimalism of the 90s. The junk food craze of the 80s versus the vegan emergence of the 90s. So it only goes to show that people who grew up as a generation straddler is more well-rounded, so to speak. We can get along with Gen-X and Gen-Y people without looking and sounding off.
When you’ve gone through years of debilitating self-doubt, no amount of coaxing from other people can get you out of that slump other than yourself.
I learned it the hard way when I’ve hit rock bottom and no one can help me out of it. I even begin to have a not-so-pleasant view of people in general during that time — something that is both true and sad:
[Most] People only help those in need when they can get something out of it. In short, the moment you ask a favor from them, they’ll own you for life even if you’ve repaid that favor a thousand times.
Pessimism aside, it was an excruciating experience not worth repeating. In spite of all the crying and the sleepless nights, nobody was able to help me other than myself. Therefore, I hardened myself and face the facts that the only person I can depend on is myself.
I know that no man is an island and we are social beings. But being rejected a lot of times tend to be too painful and therefore, going along this mentality is a form of self-preservation.