Why write at all?

Vocal keeps popping up on my Instagram account like a beacon beckoning me to publish something, anything even remotely creative. Why would I join when I don't have much to say? I'm naturally introverted and observant, not one for social media posts. I've posted about 10 photos in 5 years. I'm an overthinker, worrier and physically unaware; I bump into door frames more than once a day. On the other hand, I have somehow accumulated a lifetime's worth of experiences before the age of 30.

I have lived in three different countries. I am a certified doctor, teacher and writer. Last year I became a mum during a global pandemic. I have lost a parent, friends and patients to death and lost relationships to 'broken telephone' conversations. I have found that I have the capacity to love the two men in my life more than I thought possible – trust me, I was never one for romance – and in a small way, being couped up with my partner and our son in our tiny house that we're not allowed to leave gives me a sense of peace that I've never really had. I am content.

My cousin used to say that she was jealous of the kids at school who wore glasses or braces. She never needed either, but felt left out. It's one of the only things I know to be true: when you look at another's suffering and hopefully their triumph, you feel a twinge of envy. Not because you want their trials and tribulations, but because something happened in their life. But if you flip the coin over, the people who can't seem to stop both horrible and wonderful events from occurring in their lives often yearn for normality. There is something special about the mundane.

Currently I am enjoying sitting in the eye of my own storm. Life is calm, for now. When I reflect on the past few years, the ‘me’ of ten years ago used to have a lot of opinions, but hadn't done much. However, I was silenced by the people I have since met and the cultures I immersed myself in, hence, I don't have much to say. I can only offer a few musings about what I have been witness to.

I guess that's the challenge, isn't it? To collect all of your individual pieces of moments and memories and create a story from it all. They may fit together like puzzle pieces and form a clear image in retrospect, or they may be more like tiles that are paving the road towards an unknown future. I have a habit of reviewing the past, collecting my experiences and predicting what may happen. When I am centred and clear-headed, I often surprise myself by accurately predicting events based on people's behaviour, actions and character. When I'm stressed, I end up collecting the wrong bits of information and tend to pave a way towards the worst possible scenario. That’s how I get by: reflect, predict and then live it and find out whether I was right or not.

I started out as a cautious child and I became quite the academic nerd with a passion for running. I like to think that I’m still her. The truth is that I haven’t gone for a jog in years and what drove me to study medicine was flushed out of my system a long time ago. I reached a major breaking point where I made some bold decisions and flipped my world upside down. I graduated as a medical doctor just before I got on a plane and arrived in Italy to teach English. It was not expected of me; I was the one who was supposed to wear the white lab coat. I also wasn’t supposed to have a baby while my family was on a different continent. I was meant to be the predictable one with a linear course. We haven’t even got round to having a ceremony with me in a lacy dress yet. Without ever meaning to, I obviously walked through a portal while I was sorting through my thoughts and wasn’t paying attention, because I can’t seem to stop and catch my breath. I’m always running, and life is always full.

Fullness is neither good nor bad, it just is. I have as many, if not more, awful things happen in my daily meanderings as incredible things. Some days I badly wish for a boring week ahead, because boring is predictable and I like predictable. One of the most eye-opening phrases said of me was that I was spontaneous and laid back. I knew then that something must have changed without me having noticed. I delved into my mind and found that my base personality is still the same, I will always be a slow-deciding-prone-to-anxiety type of person. On further examination, the reason I was known to some people as spontaneous was that my life’s events were all that was visible to an outside viewer. I alone held the knowledge that my decision to stop medicine was five years in the making, and not made on a burnt-out whim. Also, I seem laid back because I very rarely share my inner thoughts or emotions with anyone. As a parting piece of advice, just because someone doesn’t cry at a funeral doesn’t mean they aren’t heartbroken.

I sit on the floor with my back pressed against the heater typing this because very rarely are people and their circumstances what they seem. My life’s events thus far illustrate this perfectly, and I like to tell stories, so there you go. That's why I write.