When I was twenty, I longed for thirty, convinced that by then I would have mastered the important answers about life, no longer lost and lonely. Youth for me was never a gift, but a curse of ignorance. Now, halfway through this journey, I am getting closer to that ideal point in time, realizing that confusion doesn't automatically disappear with time. Crossing one hurdle only brings forth new challenges in the future.
What is comforting is that the issues that troubled me a few years ago have indeed gradually dissipated, and I have even gone further than I had imagined. This may be due to my luck, my strictness with myself, or simply because of my intelligence and kindness. I am doing what I love in a foreign land, overcoming many difficulties and grievances, achieving small goals worth celebrating. By any standard, I have done well enough.
My world no longer revolves around just myself. In recent months, I have interacted with 28 visitors and led a queer support group with colleagues consisting of 10-15 people. Some of them I only met briefly, while others I see weekly. In the counseling room, I have witnessed many tears, with a large box of tissues gradually being used up, and I have also used many tissues in the supervision office. I feel like I am striving to be a stable container, accepting people's despair, helplessness, anger, anxiety, and pain. Behind this stability, I am often reminded by visitors of my own limitations and insecurities.
I am certain that I am changing the world in a unique way, with small but relentless actions reducing some of the anxiety and guilt when facing greater uncertainties. I see more tears and injustices, and I am even more puzzled by the flawed rules of the world. I do not know if my life will ultimately have any real meaning. But I keep listening, trying hard to listen, even when the noise sometimes makes my ears ring. I am grateful that I have grown into a person I approve of, respected by myself, knowing that this is not easy. I am constantly pruning myself, seeking nourishment for eternal growth.
I still love to cry, often in front of others. I believe my vulnerability is not a weakness but courage. I can cry to defend myself, express myself, and accept myself. Some have seen my tears, but I don't think anyone would consider me weak. In the last few days of 2023, California experienced an unusual, rainy winter. I stayed at home, rarely going out, occasionally picking fruits from the neighbor's lemon tree, and sometimes sitting in the yard. These days involved alcohol, tears, smoke, occasional moments of self-loathing, and crazy dancing to music.
And so, I spent a year as precious as gold.