The heaviest was regret (but I let it go)

A few weeks ago, I had to say goodbye to someone dear to me. This was not a novel concept but still, each time, having to let go when you didn’t want to could turn your mind into a warzone. 

Taking accountability to the extreme, I was wildly grasping for faults and reasons, because if I could find them, I could fix them. I was quick to accept every point that he raised, claiming all the blame and inflating them a hundredfold. 

The weight of regret was crushing, and this post was originally meant to condemn myself. But in the process of writing, somehow I turned into my own lawyer. 

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I turned 30 and it’s been a journey  

I turned 30 and thought I was happy. To be fair, in many aspects, I was, really. But I’d also been suppressing doubts and questions about where life got me and where I wanted to be. 

I turned 30 and almost moved to Mexico City. A place I knew nothing of except for what I’d learnt from TV, and for what I’d been told: that I’d “love it”, in theory. And love, was the only reason I was planning to uproot my whole life in Jakarta, blindly (and quietly). Then came a twist: The man for whom I would move halfway across the world broke up with me. 

I turned 30 and quit a job I’d thought I’d stay on for all eternity. Blew up my savings and travelled to San Francisco, Orlando, and Hawaii to feel less guilty. And after all that, I packed my bags and moved to Singapore for the promise of new possibilities, in life and love, with nary a penny.

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