Eight years later: A decision

Cartagena, Colombia

Cartagena, Colombia

Those who know me best are aware of what an indecisive person I am. Those who don’t know me well mistake that indecisiveness for flexibility, because my response to most questions and suggestions about what to do, where to go and what to eat will be: “Anything.” The truth is, while I am actually flexible most of the time, I’d really rather not impose my own desires upon other people who may not want to eat the same things or go to the same places as I do.

Those who know me best also know that even after I make a decision to do something or go somewhere, it takes me a long time to actually get around to doing it, because I spend ages after that deliberating the pros and cons. This can be a good or bad thing: by the time I decide to get that $850 pair of Gianvito Rossi shoes, chances are they’re already sold out in my size, but that only drives me to search even harder for another website that still stocks them.

So it took a good hard dose of reality last weekend to make me finally decide to regain control of my life, something I had been slipping in since the dawn of the new year. I had been hemming and hawing on it ever since I knew that door could open if I wanted it to, and then even more so when my friends started giving their wedding heads-up and I knew it would be very bad form to decline. But it was when I realized last weekend that I had been putting my plans — and almost my life — on hold for something that had only ever been a fantasy, however short-lived it may be, that I knew it was time to put myself first.

Because today makes it exactly eight years that I’ve been back in Malaysia — eight years during which I have struggled to find myself, my purpose in life, and some sort of reason for coming back here that would ease the pain of being trapped in a life that was being controlled by others. That struggle ceased somewhat after I found someone who could meet me on my own level and make our lives fit seamlessly together. And when I think of how, two years ago, we made plans to leave this place and build a new life together, away from all our mistakes and regrets, I find it inconceivable that those plans and dreams should die just because we were forced to detour into CrazyTown.

But I believe now, more than ever, that everything happens for a reason, and time is merely an excuse to stall because we’re too cowardly to allow them to happen or to ride the wave when it hits. We were brought together for a reason, and we were torn apart for another reason, and only we know what those reasons are. But if living a life that is not dictated by that most childish and most selfish of phrases, “If you don’t want to be with me, fine, but you can’t be with anyone else”, means having to leave this place and start over somewhere else, then I am prepared to journey as far as reason can take me.

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