Failure

I find that, after all the struggle to get here, I am finally feeling the twitch, the mood in my fingers and the sense of my soul; I can tell I'm not worthy of praise or compliment for the things I've done in Melbourne, or lack thereof.

Getting the financial resources to study here was an event on its own, something I should congratulate myself for, but I’m not. I only view those around me with envy because of the privilege they have in being the son/daughter of wealthy parents, not needing to struggle or worry that tomorrow the only thing they’ll have for breakfast lunch and dinner is stale bread. In comparison, I deny myself the happiness of success, but I cannot help myself from thinking how easy it must be for these people to be secure, how easy it must be to see money falling into their bank accounts with no labour or hardship to obtain it, whilst I struggle away flipping burgers so that I can earn enough to feed myself which, in the end, I do not do anyway.

I set out to this city with the intention of making something happen for myself; of making something new out of the situation that was then beyond my control. I told myself, lavish parties, drunken nights outside with cute boys equally as drunk as me, all huddled together in a safe space where I wouldn't feel left out.

I told myself, mountainous excursions to Never Never land, where dry creeks and sandy shores dwell, to entice the inner need to travel and to experience the Earth as my right and my will. To set out on a journey of exploration of this continent and those beyond me, just as I had dreamt to do as a child. To be able to collect stamps on my passport and be able to brag about lands I have visited where many others have never heard of, such as Tallygaroopna.

To traverse the inner thoughts of the people who are unlike me, who think in different spectrums and who see the world in a different light. Those who know not of hardship and suffering, and those who know more of it. To accompany those who are familiar to their own private spaces and to explore further together with those who do not know themselves.

To run in the grass, to climb the trees to pick apples ripe of the branches, to swim in the ocean and bake on the beach; to earn in the capacity that I cannot in my homeland, and to use those earnings to explore further territories which were once too distant or too expensive to be given thought.

And yet today, I find myself sitting here at my desk, grinding away at books as though they were the only thing that mattered. I have failed myself socially by excluding myself from all the grandeur that Melbourne has to offer; from springtime carnivals and birthdays (with pretentious people at pretentious places), declining invitations to dinners and social events that include, but are not limited to, drinking, smoking, canoeing down the Yarra in a tugboat, observing the birds at Cranbourne Botanical Gardens, bed and breakfast in Phillip Island, and doing the whole Great Ocean Road tourist thingy.

I try so hard to get the results that I want to get, setting high standards for myself more, now and again, even though they seem unrealistic even to my own conscience. I constantly tell myself that I can do it and I work very hard to achieve the academic fulfillment that I am obliged to achieve under my scholarship, all whilst observing other people glide past me with passes and the look of nonchalance on their face because their father will settle the invoice without a word if they fail a subject or if they need to change their course.

And not only socially but physically, I have failed myself by sleep deprivation, obscure eating habits that include the ever-so-frequent packet of instant noodles and MSG soup, less gym activity and more time wasters such as chatting on MSN with no end in sight; studying for the sake of passing the exams and keeping my scholarship from being revoked, working for the sake of getting enough money each month so that I can spend it all on keeping my health up to check due to my horrible sleep patterns and lifestyle.

I told myself, I am going to change. I am going to get better. I still believe there is medicine that will cure me, though I’m not sure how to get hold of it.

And now with the exams coming around the corner, I use that as the excuse for my lack of mental and physical wellbeing. I blame it for the frequent outbursts of temper that I unleash upon the people who care for me, I blame it for my sleep-when-the-sun-starts-to-rise habits and the filed edges on my nails from over-biting them, I blame it for the white hairs on my head and the wrinkles on my cheeks even though I know that I brought most of these things upon myself without the exam to beckon me towards them.

I struggle to lie to myself, struggle to evade the root of the problem which is MYSELF.

Yet the only consolation I give myself is the lack of jumping into mood swings and carrying the whole world down into my vortex of unhappiness. I no longer weigh people down with my problems quite in the same way as I used to, and I actually smile much more at things I don't usually smile at, such as at the ridiculous price of a bowl of Wan Tan Mee in Chinatown.

What else I have set out to be, however, I have not achieved.

I am not a failure, I just have a lot of it.