Know Your Worth

14

The exam preparation for business wasn't too bad. There was a small multiple choice question paper that lasted for an hour, and then a ninety minute Section B paper that consisted of one question that had a preamble text to analyse the context and two essay questions.

It wasn't too bad. It didn't go as well as Economics, but I was pretty confident that I wouldn't fail the paper. Fingers crossed that I would get at least a C+.

I needed a long break, and it was nearing every day. That kept me going.

I binge watched my K-dramas, and rewatched my top favourite of all time, Flower of Evil.

It made me question my taste in men, but if a sociopathic husband could be so romantic, I would not have any aversion to him at all. Especially if he is handsome.

I ignored texts from Sam and Kayla, even those from my acquaintances in Business and Economics tutorials. I was determined to take time for myself, without the constant chatter from people swirling around me like a huge, ubiquitous and a suffocating puff of smoke.

My dorm was my safe haven, and I am become attached to this place. It is practically my home now, given the amount of time I spent here while others partied and socialised.

I huddled in my blanket and pillows, laptop perched precariously on one, showing episode after episode of my shows.

I even turned the air conditioner on, which is something Kayla and I rarely do, but today was special. Business exams had finished, and I was going to enjoy myself.

The fact that I was so enthusiastic over not doing any work was quite sad, but I wasn't going to complain.

I also absolutely refused to think about the second time I had embarassed myself in front of him.

Gideon.

Sam was someone who I could still trust, but him catching me at one of my most vulnerable moments bothered me a little too much.

I hated that he saw me like that.

I replayed every word that was exchanged between us at the most random of times, and when I would my hardest to not think about it, my mind would still feel a little not-okay because of that exam freak out incident.

At least I finally learnt his name? I had suspected his name to be Theodore, but fortunately it wasn't.

I basically forgot about Troy until I had seen him at the Students Lounge when I was going back to my dorm after Business, and I pretended that I didn't see him.

I felt bad, but I seriously did not want to talk to anyone.

If he really wanted, he could approach me himself.

I'm never going to chase after anyone like a miserable wretch for some human interaction like I did in middle school and high school.

I also didn't want to see the briefly-there-but-still-there annoyed look on their faces when I approached them to just talk about general, light-hearted stuff. It has hurt me too many times to try that shit again.

Not this time.

Maybe I was a snowflake. Whatever. I was what I was, and while there was a lot of things that I hated about me, and desperately wished that I could magically fix it all by wishing hard enough, I grudgingly accepted that I was never going to be That Girl.

Like ever.

I lacked the confidence and the posture and the spirit to never give up, to always keep on trying.

Somewhere along the line I had just given up because it hurt too much to try.

There's this myth that the more shit you go through, the tougher you get, that you would develop a thicker skin.

The exact opposite happened to me. I became more sensitive, more reactive and more defeated. Even something as small as not even being able to join in a conversation as easily as others would make me retreat like a snail going back to its shell, only coming out when it was categorically necessary.

Snails are my spirit animals, it seemed.

These depressing thoughts always come back, in spite of my efforts to keep myself happy and floating above the water. My depressive episodes were a steady anchor attached to me, either dragging me down or making sure I plateaued in my social successes at some point.

Again, it was very demoralising for me.

Suddenly, I missed my mom.

I hadn't thought of her in a long time, and while I did message her, I felt really bad.

Did she think that I had forgotten about her? Written her off?

I sat up straighter, paused the episode and called my mother. It was already evening, and she would likely to be at home, eating takeout.

She picked up after three rings, and hearing her voice made me tear up a little bit.

"Hello sweetheart, how are you?" She's definitely tired. My heart aches, she works too hard.

"I'm good. I miss you," I respond softly.

"I miss you too, honey. It isn't the same without you, but every time I think about you going to Blackwell, I get so proud,"

Every thought that I had about quitting felt shameful, and my throat really closed up.

"Yeah," I said lamely. Suddenly, I had nothing to say. I had no clue on what I wanted to tell her.

She tells me about her new salary bonuses, and gushes about the new arts and craft materials she bought. She's always loved art and loves making art.

I smiled fondly, genuinely relieved that she was content, and glad that she was accomplishings
at her job. She's an anaesthesiologist, working at a private hospital.

She had been a nurse initially, at a public hospital that overworked yet underpaid her when I had been in elementary school.

She then went back to med school as a part-timer in a special anesthesiology course  that catered to working adults who were already in the medicinal field. After acing her tests and getting all the relevant qualifications, she applied to work at a private hospital that was newly built, and conveniently closer to our apartment building.

She has always been my inspiration and role model.

I'm really happy that she isn't as overworked, and even when she is, she is getting the paycheck she deserves.

"Anyway, I gotta go honey. Call me if you need anything," she chirps, and I mumble a goodbye.

It made me feel better and worse. Better because she was truly alright and thriving in her career. Worse because if she found out about my bad days, she would be worried sick. Also, that Blackwell isn't all that fantastic, despite what the Student Life section of its website might claim.

But I will never burden my mother with my problems. She has had enough problems when my father left when I was barely three.

I munch on my emergency secret stash of roasted caramel cashewnuts and ended up going to bed really early.

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