The Chronicles of Writing

studying, working, and chilling

My hair is pink.

More than half of my hair is now a not-so-subtle shade of pink. I'm pretty sure it's glowing in the dark.

I wanted a few strands of dark pink but my hairdresser missed the point and gave me what was a pink wig of hair. It didn't even look human.

Needless to say, it took a while but after my three mental breakdowns and seven shampoos, I am slowly and steadily getting used to it.

It's kind of a vibe now that is a bit more blended and faded, and to be honest, I can't believe I wasted so much of my energy caring for what my hair is gonna look like for the next six months. It's six months. Not even a 1% of my life. Not even a 0.1%.

From my brief calculations, it's 0.0025% of my entire life. I spent three days only caring about 0.0025% of my life.

It goes to show how focus we get on the small things, how easy it is to ignore the bigger picture.

It's pink. Not a monster. Not something permanent. It's just... pink.

It made me realize how much I care about things I shouldn't. How much time I waste caring about the tiniest things.

I was just filled up with the chaos and pressure I put on myself, and the pink was the last droplet, sending me into a spiral of self-hate and desperation.

It's a tricky slope between enjoying life and being so lost in the things that you want to do. It reaches the point where I end up paralyzed by the choking expectations of my perfect life.

Just to get an idea of the chaos I turned my life into: I am studying mechanical engineering while trying to outline a book, be an honor student (which means extra courses - don't ask. I don't know why I did that), and help a few girls apply on a tech program I participated in couple of years back, all of that while trying to have a life apart from work. Oh, and I got a job, that requires training, for the next weekend. Also I like someone, which is wasting like... half of my brain capacity.

At most times of the day, I feel insane for even trying to be more. It's already hard enough without all of the extra things I force myself to tackle every time.

I feel like a juggler with too many knives to balance. At least one of them is gonna end up falling, I just hope it doesn't stab me in the process.

But, as all of my repeatedly friends remind me, I am, indeed, insane, which means I can at least try. Even if all of the knives end up on the ground (or on me for that matter).

P.S.: I just realized what a gruesome metaphor that was, probably an affect from the one too many murder mysteries I have been reading. Don't worry, I am not a psychopath (I don't think). But anyway back to my point.

It's not easy to love yourself when all we are programmed to do is evolve into something better, stronger, smarter, more successful. What I try to remind myself by the end of every unproductive day, every day of stress and laziness, is:

If  you don't try to love yourself every step of the uncharted territory that is a dream, then what's the point of achieving that dream?

I wanna be happy with what I do and who I am even if I'm not always the picture perfect person I forced myself to aim for.

I wanna laugh, and love, and live. Not collapse under the weight my own expectations, because what type of life is that?

I am embracing the pink.