"I want to let of go of fear," I said aloud.
"Fear of what?" I heard said, from no voice one can tangibly hear, but a voice from within, a visceral sort of creeping from the underbelly of my being that made the hairs on my forearms quiver.
"Fear of being alone. Fear of failure. Fear of never feeling like I'm enough." My eyes filled with tears as I mouthed each fear.
There was nary a moment of hesitation between the imposing question, and the introspective answer. It was as though a mask was melting off the surface of my skin from the moonlight beaming down on me.
In this moment, I could feel the fine threads that keep me from falling apart like a well played game of Jenga. In this moment, it was I that just wanted to let go.
I drove home, lay on my sofa for a bit, had a hot shower, followed by some cold sushi over 15 minutes of The Bold Type. When Jane's father decided to surprise visit her because she sounded suspiciously morose over the phone, she broke down, and cried in his arms. Then I cried too.
I wondered why it takes fiction to allow me to feel all that I feel, and why I constantly feel a weight on my shoulders. I thought about the moon, and my fears, about how they had served me. I felt the urge to do something for myself beyond the bare necessities, and wondered what I could do that I enjoyed, that made me feel good about myself, that allowed me a moment of peace from the reckless reality of exhaustion, sleep deprivation, sedentarism, and a deplorable diet consisting of nasi lemak, bihun goreng, kuih ketayap, pau kelapa, and seri muka.
"I should write something," I thought. "Maybe about how 2022 was for me, since this is the first full moon of the year and everything," I continued to explore.
I'm torn between celebrating the success of my progress with my training in becoming a doctor, and mourning the loss of my relationship.
I think about how proud I am that I came this far, how I spent the entire year working as a Houseman, and retaliated against all manner of adversities to stay true to my purpose, but then I also think about this person that I shamelessly shared my life with, and how they are no longer in it. I think about what a travesty dating during Housemanship is, and how much of my time I do it anyway because I cannot stand hospital banter outside the hospital. I think about the few dates that I did enjoy, and these strangers from far off lands that left an impression, and how I will probably never see them again because they've either ghosted me, or gone off to India to find the love of their lives. These examples are purely hypothetical of course.
To be completely honest, I don't know where I stand anymore. I feel like this life is barely mine. I go to work, I come back, I go back to work, I meet new people, I take these little trips, I try desperately to decorate my life against the chaotic demands of my profession, but at the end of it, I don't care about the new year, or following suit with the people still making resolutions.
All I really seem to care about these days is running as far and fast as I can away from the void, but ever so slowly I can feel my stamina wearing out. I'm not yet exactly tired of running, but I am very much aware that I am running.
So maybe that is what I want to let go off before a new moon cycle dawns on my days in this odd numbered year: I want to stop running.
Perhaps I will come face to face with the aforementioned fears, perhaps I will face nothing at all because I suspect I have been running for a long, long time, and perhaps the struggle in deciding what I gained and lost in 2022 is the mighty reflection in itself. Needless to say, it was a year of immense growth, regardless of what circumstances had called for it to happen.
Moon, I am going to try my very best to stop running, and embrace my fears like I would my Latvian pen-pal I have yet to meet, with earnest longing, and affection. It's been a long time coming, and I'm ready to sit and have a conversation with you.