Rant of a woman.

An egocentric post.
You have been warned.

I’m 24-going-on-25.

Since graduation, I’ve been working my ass off 60-ish hours a week in one of the most hardcore business I could’ve dived into, spend my off days trying to recharge just so I don’t die the next day I go to work (or making necessary calls to keep the business going), and trying my best to make my way in this epically massive world.

Yet the question most people ask me is “So when are you planning to get married?”

Some call me a feminist (fat chance is they don’t really know what this word really means because they made it sound like it’s a bad thing), or an idiot for wasting my time in a company that’s giving me a hard time 99% of the time.

I want to call myself a young professional, but I don’t feel that young nor that professional. Still I’m doing what I think I need to do right now. Do I love it? Not really. I don’t enjoy slaving my youth away. I don’t enjoy being admitted to the hospital every once in a while for the same diagnosis again and again – what’s the name again? Oh. “Exhaustion”. I don’t enjoy having meals alone most of the days just because my work demands me to. But I’m okay with all those, because that’s what I need right now. Because if I chose something something lighter and easier than this, I would slip away and lose my will to live, not learning anything as I grow up. Or grow old.

It’s frustrating to hear people telling me how awful it must be just because I’m a female. If there’s a guy living my life, they would tell me how hard-working he is and how dedicated he is to his work. Some earlier generations looked at me and told me how miserable it must be to be single, and some madmen are straightforward enough to advise me to “quit and start picking someone up at a bar”. Kidding. I toned that one down just because I can’t bring myself to even write it down.

I’m not against women choosing marriage over career in their early life. It’s their choice. It’s their life. The earth needs to be populated somehow. But this is my choice. This is my life. And I feel the need to experience all this before I get to the part where I’m supposed to be responsible for living things we call family. Believe me when I say this will be better than building one when you know you don’t want one yet.

What I want is to get filthy rich and travel the world without worry.
I want to shop ’till I drop and buy my parents a house in Barcelona.
Or Santorini. Or Toscana.
I want to write a brilliant novel that inspire people a la Paulo Coelho.

But that’s the difference between my “want” and my “need”.

What I need now is to see how far I can go.
I need to try to walk on my own two feet before holding on to someone.
I need to fail just to learn how to get up.
I need to go through all this so I know how to face the world later.

And as quoted from that b*tch in a show full of first-world problems…
“I have to be Blair Waldorf before I can be Chuck Bass’ girlfriend.”

While there’s no Gossip Girl material running in my blood, I need to be me before I can be someone’s something. And that’s enough reason to look forward and keep going. So pleeeeeease, would you lovely beings stop asking me whether I’ve “grown up and decided to settle down” already.

You know you love me.



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