Today I write something about the most important day of my life. There’s no reason to make any particular day the most important day of my life as long as you still wake up each day.
This entry is my reflection of the importance we assign to each day in our lives and what we have to look forward to in its own ways. I look forward to each day. I look forward to completing a day’s work. I imagine the completion of my work done. I imagine the satisfaction I derived from finishing a day’s task. All of a sudden, I imagine and forget the stress, the pain and frustration that had gone into preparing for this day. I imagine being forgiven for my ridiculous and unreasonable behaviour – the yelling, the screaming, curses thrown out of my mouth. It’s like this our days become incredibly important and they are recorded in the way our bodies react in certain situations. Our bodies themselves measure and archive the seasons of our lives. Take me for instance, the scars left from adolescent impulsivity and puberty blues, burns from a hot stove, sports injuries; each scar adding to awareness, growth and nonetheless, importance of life. Keep your spirits high. Be happy. Think happy thoughts and they shine out of your face naturally.
Here, this task is my way of looking back at my life, and seeking meanings through the scars and memories that were left behind. These scars and memories tell stories.
The place where I wrote my thesis and conducted my research was a traditional clock tower, an ancient oak-framed building that was preserved as Melbourne Uni’s heritage, cleaned with rustic interior and covered in wooden accents. There was a study hall, where I studied – and there was the spot – the usual table where I worked on my papers and research day and night. Throughout my Honours year, I use that table for research. That particular table in Old Arts Hall contains my story for anyone who uses the table. Growing up is hard work. There’s so much to learn and understand. I will say, there is so much room for growth in my life. My existence and maturity go way back to my teenage puberty blues. Allow me to take a moment to write this story.
I used to think that being slim was akin to being beautiful – that became the epitome of perfection conjured today. It didn’t happen all at once for me but the transformation just gained momentum gradually. It started with the boy I knew. He gave me death threats, I was frightened, so our dads had confronted each other on the phone. Things changed and my impression of the boy had changed. I grew fond of him, we chatted on the phone. Things were just going great between us. However, he seemed to enjoy the attention he got from the junior girls in school. I was becoming non-existent to him. I’d been known to do shocking things – slitting my wrists became my way of retaliating superficial beauty. I put myself on strict diets and exercise that could make me look slim and beautiful. All girls, in fact are helpless to this simply by looking in their mirrors and wishing they were prettier, slimmer or having less fats and freckles on their faces.
One day, I decided to give up and be happy by starting to love myself even more. If I want to get fit and look good, I do it for myself instead of pleasing others. You’re not born to please the world. You live for yourself.
I love myself now, so there’s no need to fight for perfect beauty. All of these qualities I knew I had of myself, I began to love and see and internalise them as Sarah’s traits. I started seeing myself much happier with friends who make me feel good about myself and this deep longing I had to make myself feel comfortable. Through it all, I started feeling like I was getting to know myself in different ways.
I have learned hard. This is how I’ve changed my perspective towards embracing my own imperfections with all the energy, grace and style.
P/s: Apologies for not sticking to my challenge for the past 2 days. I was swamped with night activities with friends! But hey, I’m back!