Recently, it hit me that I am at the (almost) exact midpoint of my (almost) gap year.
And I started freaking out.
Let me backtrack for a bit: I spent my last two years of high school in Singapore. There, public schools run on a different academic calendar, so I graduated last December. Between then and this August (when I will begin my Jumbo journey across the globe), I have eight months to do “anything I want!”
Four are already gone.
It scares me, how quickly time seems to be trickling through my fingers. After graduating in Singapore, I was determined to spend as much time as possible with my family, back home in Malaysia. After all, I am going to be away for at least another four years.
So my plans for this involuntary but highly welcomed, almost-gap year were to:
But really, what I’ve experienced is better described as warm Sunday afternoons, lazing on the couch as I find myself with the time and luxury to read as much as I like again.
Initially, I struggled to adjust to a much slower pace of life back home. But now, the initial limbo has been taken over by an appreciation for the quiet and little moments.
There have been early morning breakfasts hunts around George Town’s old quarters; and also late night discussions about love and life, as my classmates paid a visit from Singapore.
By going through various job experiences, I am learning more and more about who I am and what I really believe and find joy in, and trying to slowly come to terms with that.
I Skype friends, old and new, from various countries, and our pixelated, laggy conversations remind me of the wonder that is the world we live in today. Back here, I have eased back into speaking in Mandarin and Malay, instead of only English most of the time.
By reaching out to kids as a volunteer teacher, they teach me instead – inviting me to see the world through their eyes, and learn more about the community I come from, in this developing nation.
I get to experiment in the kitchen, and walk my dog under the orange-streaked sunset sky. My seat at the dinner table is filled once again, and won’t be empty till August.
So perhaps the bigger lesson is this: It’s not so much about what you do, but how you do it, why you’re in it and who you do it with.
Because the people we meet, the adventures we experience and the sights that we marvel at … they have a way of seeping through your skin and becoming a part of you. I don’t usually notice it immediately, but over time, hints of these stories show up in the folds of my thoughts, the clips of my accent, the corner of my eye as I prepare to dive into a new adventure.
And all of a sudden, I realize that I am a different person from who I was before, and effectively, the one I will become.
I guess I am not afraid because I have only four months left before I start college; I am afraid because my time is so limited, before I leave all of this behind.
As much as I am excited to embark on this next adventure, for the current one I am in, I feel as though I haven’t really understood what I’m meant to learn yet.
That I’ve barely figured anything out, and all too soon, it will be time to pack up and leave again.
Then again, I suppose that’s just how life rolls, right? Maybe we’ll never truly figure out who we are, because we are constantly learning, growing and evolving to hopefully become better people. All I can do is to make the most of my time left here, and look forward to my next home, for it is indeed a great one to do all the above.
It is to find peace in the ebb and flow. We’re all still trying to figure things out, and that’s okay. That’s great. It keeps us grounded, and reminds us of the joy of this human experience.
For all these big little lessons we get to learn, I’m grateful.