As i sip on my mocha every morning – it reminds me that i could have been somewhere else, savouring the sweetness of Ca Phe Trung (Vietnamese Egg Coffee). Specifically, it is a subtle glimpse that shoots me back to the now-distant memory of cool air, quaint winter nights, immersing in comfort cups in the midst of a diverse cultural bustle.
Last night I took a break while rushing through chapters of Psychology.
In the exhaustion and overwhelmingness of things and running out of time, the inability to secure an internship, the insecurities and how i have been placing my emotions on hold; to avoid and evade the feeling of feelings.
Oftentimes i wonder – is it only my mind’s programming that is set to be warped in nostalgia by default? Is it normal or is it weird? Does society condone it, Although I would think otherwise. Because it seems like friends don’t have such a hard time dealing with their retrospective thoughts. Unless, they are doing a pretty darn good job in hiding it. It seems like a journey is just a journey to them – nothing more.
I am not denying the possibility that I am overly-attached, though. Or that the mind needs re-wiring, reformatting, rebooting.
Amongst the racing thoughts that were like shooting stars, one that zoomed past – which, i allowed myself to be absorbed along with it: Back to December, in the woods of Sa Pa, climbing through the forest as we made our way to Ma Tra. Slipping down the narrow, muddy path, adrenaline-rushed, recalling the squad, and bumpy rocks that we had to inch down laboriously one by one. Getting carried away, it seems like i were inundated in the feelings, there and then, once again, while being physically at home. The concentration gradient proved to have been terrible, for the mere few moments of reliving left me in tears; yet, I didn’t even know what i was sobbing over.
Friends, who are all going away? Good times? Beautiful memories? Majestic Mother Nature? Liberating fresh air?
The moments came in myriads, and flashes. It left me consciously worn – but i persevered to finish my chapters of work after.
The crack down – i am stronger than all there has ever been, yet i find myself in pieces each time i try to contain. Containment, not contentment. Even the french press, so thin a glass, can withstand the pressure of the heat, the grind and the applied human force; more than what i can withstand.
Does that render me weak?