reclaiming what fell out of my basket, discover, and rediscovery
I never realized how much I had in me until it was gone or starting to fade away.
Growing up, I lived under the watchful eye of my classic asian tiger mom. She ensured my childhood was a whirlwind of activities, sports, music, art, you name it. It was never about trying, I was always expected to master every single one once I started. And somehow, I did? I guess? By the time I passed the highest level of piano exams available in my country, I had perfected every swimming move and made it onto the team. I completed advanced math lessons early, never missed an award ceremony, and even earned compliments for the words I spoke and wrote. Weekends were never mine, they were spent at competitions, most of which weren’t even academic. It was a childhood filled with accomplishments, yet the pressure never seemed to end.
It’s Friday evening, ten years later, and I’ve made a pact with myself, weekends are just my time, no schedules, no commitments. Like every weekend, I dust off the keys of my piano and play a few chords, soon slipping into songs wherever my fingers feel like gliding. It’s like muscle memory, guiding me through my favorite pieces. I still play them with passion, as if I’m back under three bright spotlights in a quiet room with five fierce judges watching me perform. At first, it’s always exhilarating. But after cycling through the same five or ten songs, I’ll just sit there bored back with my phone.
Where did those ten years go? Turns out, life demands more than mastering the things I grew up doing. I had to pick up new lessons, face failures, sometimes humility along the way. Over those years, I made friends who lived differently on a very similar life of mine. Friends who took the same math lessons but could skip them simply because they didn’t feel like going, or who chose to wander around the mall instead of anxiously attending the same competitions I was forced into by my mother. And yet, at the end of the day, we were still friends. Over those ten years, I picked up new skills I needed, or ones people told me I’d needed them. I stumbled and fumbled, slowly learning that I don’t master things overnight, and learning is a long, relentless journey. I discovered that sometimes, I had to think harder, push further, and even cry louder just to get a small win. It wasn’t as seamless as I used to as a child, but it felt real, and taught me far more than I ever expected.
Along those ten years, I was constantly picking up new skills, always believing I was the last to learn while everyone else seemed like a master. In the process, I forgot parts of myself I once loved deeply. I forgot to pick up my guitar and pluck a few strings. I forgot how to sketch freely without worrying about the result, how to write poems just for the joy of it, or how to lose myself in a book for hours. Life became a blur of forward motion, but it wasn’t without its silver linings.
Over those years, I learned to run tracks, something I used to hate. What’s the point of running in circles with no clear destination? But somehow, I grew to love the rhythm, choosing new paths each time, enjoying the sound of my own heartbeat, and finding quiet satisfaction in completing each lap. I learned to capture moments, I used to love snapping photos but now i’ve been taught to truly see breathtaking beauty in the process, I learned to hike, I learned to see artistry in storytelling through movies, and I began to listen to pop songs. Well, no, I didn’t end up becoming the doctor I once thought I had to be. Instead, I found myself in a new strange field I’m deeply passionate about, even though I had to start from scratch. Every bit of knowledge, every skill, was something I had to fight for, learn from the ground up. And despite the stumbles, I wouldn’t trade those ten years for anything. They made me who I am today, a patchwork of old and new passions, rediscovered joys, and a deeper appreciation for life’s twists and turns.
My graduation was months ago, and I’ve been in a constant state of reflection since. It feels as though I’ve finally stepped off a treadmill that had been running non-stop for years, only to now be running endlessly around the vast expanse of the real world. No more structured classes, assignments, or exams. Now, I have to slow down and truly think about the journey that brought me here and where I’m headed next.
I think about the endless hours I spent trying to meet expectations (some from others, most from myself). I think about the skills I’ve gained, the passions I’ve rekindled, and the ones I’ve left behind. I think about the friends who have walked beside me, some drifting away, others staying close. And most of all, I think about who I’ve become. The world now feels bigger, freer, but also a little daunting. It’s exciting and terrifying at the same time. I’ve also come to understand that, after the past 10 years and the other 10 before, I don’t have to have everything figured out right now. Maybe it’s okay to take it one step at a time, to try things out, to fail, and to learn again. Maybe it’s okay to finish something and never touch it again. Maybe it’s okay not to perfect every move, as long as I’m moving forward. I need to embrace the strange and awkward moments, finding joy in the little things along the way.
The future may be uncertain, but I’ve learned that it’s not something to fear. It’s an opportunity to grow, explore, and redefine what success means to me. As long as I stay open to new possibilities, and even when I’m scared, I’ll do it scared. 🧳
