Achievement.

I recently entered this short story-writing competition, in which the selected stories would be featured in an anthology that will be published a few months from now. The short stories they asked for were really short: 150 words or less.

I’m more of a longform writer (even when texting). The only times I’ve ever been concerned about word limits is when they include a maximum (which may be why I don't use Twitter), because I’m typically fairly certain that I’ll be able to make the minimum quite easily. It was thus a challenge for me to write an entire story in as many words as I usually put into one or two paragraphs without even noticing.

I looked online for inspiration, came up with a story idea, and put pen to paper (figuratively, of course – I typed it out). After I was done, I had one or two people look at it and then sent it to the publishing company that was organizing the competition. I had no idea if they would like my story, and especially not if they would like it enough to select it. They only wanted 100 stories, after all, and after the deadline passed the total number of entries was announced to be almost 1200. Three of those entries were mine, after I'd sent in two more stories some time after my first one. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered with the latter two. I received an email yesterday, in which I was informed that my first story had made the final cut.

I was having my lunch out of a plastic container in the living room of my Kajang apartment when I saw the email. The winners were supposed to be announced on Sunday, so I hadn’t really prepared myself to receive the news. Finding out that my story had been selected out of over a thousand others to be featured in an actual published book filled me with raw joy and excitement, which manifested itself in the form of actual giddy squealing. I’m not a very reactive person, but my response to the email was probably just below ‘last-minute Arsenal winner’ on the excitement scale.

After checking the full list of selected stories that the publisher had helpfully attached, I was brought back down to Earth after finding out that a number of people had had multiple stories selected, including at least one actual published author. It made me realize that, if I were to pursue a career as a professional writer, there was a lot of competition out there, even in this country. Getting published in an anthology of 150-word stories is just the first step.

Nevertheless, it’s still probably my most satisfying achievement in life thus far. I’m not even exaggerating; my academic results, at best, have only filled me with more relief than the satisfaction of a job well done. Who would have ever thought that the shortest piece of work I’d ever done would turn out to be the one I’m most happy with?

I’m honestly thankful that my story was selected. Perhaps the reason why it made me happier than, say, my academic achievements is because I had no way of knowing if my story would make the cut. I’m thankful for what I’ve gotten academically as well, of course, but grades are far more objective than a story selection process.

Having said all that, ranking your life achievements is, on the surface, a futile and pointless exercise, but I like to think that it says something about who you are. It says something about what means the most to you. It says something about what you really value in life.

Aside from this storywriting thing, my other favorite achievement was playing football for my school back in Form 5. It was only district level, yes, and we did only win one match, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Those are memories that I’ll hold close to me for as long as my brain allows me to, regardless of how insignificant they may seem to other people.

I’m still only 22 years old (23 this year…), so in theory I still have a long way to go, still have plenty of things to potentially accomplish. I’m thankful for everything I’ve been given, and hopefully there’s still more to come.

Escape.

So it’s 2017.

When I was younger, I used to stay up until midnight with my siblings to catch the New Year fireworks show at KLCC. We never actually went there, of course, and neither did we ever need to; we could see the twin towers quite clearly from our house.

As time went on, we grew older and just couldn’t be bothered. This year we (most of us, anyway) watched football on TV instead of catching any celebrations. I guess when you’ve seen one fireworks show, you’ve seen them all.

People change over time, as does the way they see things. Some people see the turn of the year as an opportunity to celebrate, while others see it as just another arbitrary moment in time, just as insignificant a moment as any other. The latter probably don’t get invited to too many parties.

I’ve no problem with people wanting to celebrate things. Life is just terrible most of the time, and people like to take any chance they get to enjoy themselves. People need to escape.

Last year was pretty much a year of escape for me, and yes, that includes my internship. I may have mentioned this before on this blog, but the three years I’d had in Manipal felt like ten. I needed an escape from all that, and I got it. Granted, it ended up being a lot longer than I originally intended, but I guess there’s a reason for that.

Who knows what this year will hold for me, but I expect (and actually hope for) much of my time to be filled with my Master’s work. There’ll be a lot of reading, writing, presenting, and all sorts of other stuff. My supervisor tells me that I might be presenting at a conference in June or July somewhere in either Langkawi or Penang, which I’ll admit does sound exciting.

My mother told me that this Master’s program, and I suppose education in general, isn’t so much about getting the qualification at the end of it – it’s more to do with your journey and growth as a person. And I really agree with that. I expect to be yet another version of myself a couple of months down the road.

I’ve lost count of how many times last year I found myself realizing that I didn’t know myself anymore. I’ve been told that this was a good thing, because it meant that I was changing and developing as a person.

In the first few months of 2016, I found myself writing and publishing stuff in my university’s e-newsletter on topics that were…well, matters of the heart. You know, stuff you might hear in motivational talks. Now I don’t even read about those things anymore, much less write about them. I guess I’m just not interested in these topics anymore, or at least not right now. I might start getting hooked on them again once things start getting much harder than they are at the moment. Who knows.

The version of me that I am right now is probably the most relaxed me there’s ever been, and that probably has to do with the fact that I don’t have any urgent need to not be relaxed right now. I haven’t properly started with my research (which will be stressful), I don’t really read the news (which, these days, can be quite stressful), and I avoid all forms of negativity like the plague. I've also stopped caring (temporarily or otherwise) about a lot of things I used to care about. It's a lot easier to not get stressed about something if you don't care about it.

I’m in my own bubble of positivity at the moment. I know I can’t stay here for too long, but I’m making the most of it while I still can. I'll be out of here soon, don't you worry.