20201216
the bell jar
Today was a normal day. I was busy at work. When at work, I found a book called ‘the Bell Jar’ and I decided to get one for myself. I called all bookstores I know to check if they have a stock available. When the lady from JP Wan Chai answered that she found one, I told her to keep one for me. I was content that I found one from a bookstore in my neighborhood. Soon I made a brilliant evening plan to immerse myself in reading with a glass of red wine (or two) and Lofi songs in my Spotify playlist. This sudden plan was good enough to cheer me up against rigorous workload which required me to sacrifice precious 15 more minutes which wouldn’t even count for the overtime. When I arrived at home, I happily stirred the onion with the Korean beef sauce I’ve forgotten its presence for more than a year. Stir-fry onion by itself sounds slightly humble, but its sweet palate matched pretty well with a glass of Spanish red wine. With pleasant sips and bites, I studied Japanese grammar and read about post pandemic trends to warm up my brain before opening a brand new book. Then I started reading the Bell Jar as if I was a kid unwrapping her Christmas gift on Boxing Day.
Thanks to my effort my today was very wholesome and happy. Nothing was too extreme at work or at home. I was happy with what I have done for myself. I really wish that my future days could go in a similar pace as what I had today.
The word that empowered me actually comes from the Bell Jar: I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
I am turning 26 next year and I still have no idea what I would be doing in my future. Would it be the same profession I am doing now? I started working in Hospitality because I had passion—and I thought I would love it for good when I was in high school. Do not get me wrong. I do love my job, and I do find happiness from great guest comments on my contributions. Witnessing appalling aftermath of the Pandemic, the future that seemed very promising now turns out to be bleak. Following the standards of what society calls to be a proper civilian, I earned a bachelor’s degree and founded solid career experience but I am uncertain. When I told my dad about my anxiety on phone the other day, he said that the best way to conquer overwhelming uncertainty is to make a mind simple as much as we could. Jotting down the uneasiness as if we write our New Year’s goals every year, we would find a simple yet assuring path to overcome the mess. Maybe I should try writing one. At least it would make me feel better.
