Life after survival mode

2025 was the year I graduated from monthly therapy, finished all my meds, and recovered a semblance of self that didn’t require extreme measures to get up in the morning.

I finally went back to the dojo, barely OT-ed, and have friends who have no idea what I do for a living and like me anyway — all without a drop of alcohol. I don’t even look for it anymore. My lovely little life was hard earned.

Then, on one sunny afternoon in September, I had the sudden urge to take a flamethrower and blow up this lovely little life. Who even does that?!? 

I spent the last 3 months of the year oscillating between packing up my life in neatly labelled boxes and looking for a new apartment to continue building this lovely little life, big enough for my nephew to spend summers in Singapore with me.

After a lot of introspection, aided by slap-in-your-face conversations with some of my closest friends who’ve known me and my patterns for decades, I’ve reached the conclusion that not every urge must be heard and definitely not every urge must be acted upon.

In this case, the urge to throw away a life I worked hard for is coming from the ridiculous chase for chaos — as the only state I know and I can confidently navigate. This Asian eldest daughter doesn’t know what to do when nothing is burning or no one needs saving. Stability is not yet her friend. Ease is not yet in her vocabulary. Safety still feels boring — like something’s always missing. She’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But what if the other shoe is actually not gonna drop? Even better, what if, even when it does, she already knows exactly how to get to safe harbour?

These are the questions I hope to answer in 2026. For now, I’m holding off on taking that flamethrower and will start to actually enjoy this lovely little life. Maybe I’ll even meet a version of me who can actually sit still and smell the flowers.