Silent Storm

It’s been a while since I wrote my last thoughts on paper. ok, ok, typed my thoughts on my notebook. It feels like life is moving so fast.

After coming back from my vacation to India and Hong Kong, my friend low-level anxiety visited again. When it sets in, everything other than the must-do becomes hard to pursue. The only thing keeping me going right now is my work. The routine of getting up, sitting down, solving problems, that’s what gets me through. Everything else is put on hold.

I am thankful for my friendships. They float me around during these times.

I have this high-functioning anxiety. No one would know what I’m going through. I think my brain has figured out a way to make it work for me. I have an exercise buddy; I get up in the morning and go work out because I feel accountable to her. I have friends who are social, they want to be out and enjoy life, and they rely on me to plan sometimes. I do it because I feel obliged. I call my mom and my sister daily, my mother-in-law on weekends, my cousins and friends because I feel responsible. No one can tell that I’m anxious. To everyone, I seem like a high achiever, a strong-minded person. Maybe I am. And for that, I have to thank my anxiety.

Coming back to the writing, I lie down at night and a series of stories and memories flood through me. My heart wants to put them out in words. I don’t have the tactics or the vocabulary to create something great. I am idea-rich, vocabulary-poor. But my soul tells me it’s worth telling the story. The story of a little girl who dreamed of becoming a writer. She deserves to be one.