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Day 48: A quarter of a year

Sat, Sep 2, 2017 | Read in 4 minutes

I don’t think I’ve ever been as ashamed of myself as I am now. I keep jumping from career field to career field, that’s a given. You could call me a flake, a quitter, an irresponsible non-professional despite my claims. And I would tell you they are all true.

The problem is: I keep enrolling myself into jobs that I know will not work out for me. It’s not that the work is exhausting, and not even that I don’t get along with co-workers. I just generally don’t get along with people the way normal people do. And on that note, I hear myself rationalizing my own irresponsibility.

I’m done with Nursing. Again. I’ve not posted in a while despite my goals of blogging 365 days this year. Again. And I’m ashamed. I’m terrified about what my future might look like. I fear that my former colleagues or my future employers would see this post and judge me as a person. And they will, mind you. They will judge and, somewhere down the road, they will lose respect and hope for me. And the same will eventually apply to my family and loved ones.

It’s hard to try to be understood. And it’s hard to ignore that people need to understand. I try to do my best but my fears overwhelm me. My anxiety starts settling in and I become paralyzed with indecision.

If, like any other normal person, I could push through working at a job until I could finally save and invest, I would. But I find it hard to breathe and to live in the same environment as these “normal people.” I am not typical. I am a flake.

But I continue to write.

I write not so that I could protect myself from the people who I feel I owe an explanation. If anything, this post would be considered incriminating.

Everything that has happened in my life resembles a collage of events that I can’t connect until now. People say I am trapped in that place of immaturity and irresponsibility. And I couldn’t disagree. I try to live one day at a time, to keep moving. My attention is pulled from every direction. My focus is out of control. My ego is screaming for me to do something people will finally understand and feel happy about. But I am stuck. I am trapped.

And I continue to write.

Because writing expresses my thoughts, feelings, and innermost cravings. I crave a life of fulfillment and freedom. I want to earn but I don’t want to be tied into anybody’s rules. I want to be able to rest because dealing with people everyday is taxing for me. I want to be flexible because everything else that happened to me in the past has been nothing but limiting.

And I sit tonight, unable to come to terms with myself about what I’m gonna consider as “my career” or “my plan for the future” or heck simply “my means of living”. I’ve earned myself a professional license. I’ve been blessed with so many things that I sometimes fail to appreciate. But I finally see that it’s not my calling.

This quarter of the year, for three months, I was exposed to the reality of Nursing as a job in my country. I have utmost respect for the people in this profession and I discovered that wearing that white uniform entails a responsibility. You have to earn the right to wear that white uniform.

I don’t think I deserve it. And I don’t think I deserve all the wonderful people who have helped me to accomplish it.

That’s the thing when you lead people on to believe that what they’re doing for you actually makes you happy when it doesn’t.

They think they know what’s best for you and you try to nod and agree because you think, “I owe these people my life, my education, and my reputation.”

But nothing is worth the degradation of your own happiness. You deserve to be happy because of your own choices.