Milestone – Beyond Thesis Writing

An exaggeration? A witness to my internal struggle of self-worth and doubt. Why would I want to continue perusing such opportunities? It surly is not because of any immediate self-gratification.

After writing a thesis.

25, a milestone.

Occasionally, I have a satisfying thought of disbelief that it is over, that I received the score I wanted. I smile to myself and shake my head in an obvious motion like one would see exaggerated in a movie. Yet, as most agonizing longterm projects in which your health, mind, and soul become intertwined with the production of it, when ‘finished,’ a hole is left.

(Why do we peruse such things in the first place?)

I feel like a piece of me is missing and this is when, if one is lucky and has time to reflect, the natural process of healing takes place.

Deep breaths. The silence after the storm. Consisting of long walks and a forced reciting of “take it easy, feel good you are finished” can be touched but has not becomes a reality. Though simple, these thoughts are embodied in the form of forced palpitations¬†through your mind. It is as though some sort of alternative liquid is squeezing its way through the bloodstream which can only be natural for the body to reject. Then comes a frantic search for the ever so addictive stress. An addiction that has consumed the body for such length that the absent of it leaves one feeling as though there has been a death, a feeling of constant need to fill the vastness, and this alone begins to regenerate it.

Thrusting me ¬†forward running to ‘the next.’

Hyped on coffee and wrapped under the heavy blankets of a rainy day, I question any meaning, any genuine application of the state of reflection.

Finally, only now do I feel like I can attempt to put into words the complexity of this process, to reflect and to muster up formulated thoughts to articulate reality as I see and feel it.

This is where I stand.

As the endless job search begins (continues from a year ago), I have sent out in great numbers, letters beginning with:

“For the last ten years I have lived transitionally throughout the rural villages of post-soviet countries, the capitals of South America, the treasured landscapes of South Asia, and the largest cities in North America and Europe. Throughout each location, I have integrated myself, learning languages, customs, foods, social mannerisms, and sharing spaces that I have called home.”

What are these years?

Presented with time, space to breath, food in my belly, sweaters to warm my skin, I am rolling in a world of thought exposing holes in my heart and a fog in my mind. This is where I begin. I begin with a treasure box of beauty, of life, and through my eyes, my senses I have collected and decided to partner with Time. I have come to terms that I may not understand these past years but I choose to embed them. To embed them into my present existence and continue to squeeze the drops of reflection out of their sweet juices only to swirl it together in revealing of new flavors.



I am obsessed with the ocean and the world it has grown


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