On The Verge Of Not Knowing
In two days, I will be turning 31 years old. Having spent another round of decade in this lifetime, I always thought that this upcoming birthday would be a challenging one... or scary, to say the least. I remember celebrating my 21st birthday and hated it, a lot, because I was super conscious about not being in my 10s anymore. Adulthood seemed scary back then, and I'm not going to say it isn't anymore —but after a while, adulthood can be less peculiar. And we're mostly becoming capable, throughout the time, of managing things that we're familiar with. My 20s were about all those dealing-with-first-base-administration (making an extension credit card, switching to post-paid Simcard, renting a place to live on my own, figuring out how to cook rice) as well as hovering through the thin surface of being in-and-out of relationship(s). But those days were over: the last year of my 20s was no more about learning; it was about "becoming". See, previously, I got the next stage of my life planned quite neatly before, theoretically. In high school, I knew already what I wanted to do by the time I enter university. And during my university time, I also knew what kind of career I should pursue after I graduated. But then comes my 29th birthday and a follow-up pregnancy. Exactly a year after, three days after my 30th birthday, my daughter Dia was born. That was the turning point: I no longer know shit. Parenthood and motherhood (double cases, for boldness) are two concepts that were so foreign to me, in the sense that no matter how good I am in my reading, the reality doesn't always match with any available guidebooks. So with Dia's birth, I too was born again.
Who would have thought that, beside the books and stationery, I would be casually stack up my breast-pump equipment on top of my working desk?
Since our birthday is so close, I marked her birth as my new beginning. It took me almost a year to realise how much I've grown since then, as both the same and different person. My career choice has allowed me to make the adjustment I need to fit my role as a stay-home mother, so I've been incredibly lucky to watch my daughter grow from day one. I sang her lullabies, I put playful songs in her nursery every single day, and I talk to her with cheerful tones. I didn't notice how much singing and dancing to children's songs have changed me, and healed me, as an adult who once been hurt and disappointed (and hold grudges, maybe to a bigger or deeper extent, more than I think I'm aware of). For the first time in my 30 years of life, I started the day with a joyful sing and an innocent stare from a newborn soul, looking deep into mine. As I take her to bath and repeat the routine every morning, she's the one who washes me clean. Of any bitterness, or fear.
What I found to be fundamental is the amount of social control I have in my hands in the past year: so little. Every so often, I wander around at home without a phone around. I would take up the morning fully prep myself and the four family members who need to be fed: the husband, the baby, the dogs. Sometimes I post an update on my Instagram; sometimes, the update is part of a job. Then I might not post anything at all for the next four or five days. I missed a lot of Whatsapp calls and skipped so many messages. I missed out what most people are up to, mostly because I didn't do well on watching everyone's Insta Stories or scrolling enough Instagram feed photos to know what's up. When I got extra time, I start talking to my closest friends, checking up on them directly; I also mostly take a nap. I'm dwelling in-the-now, being mindful upon the happening scenes around me, and spending the majority of my time to understand all the new things that occur. There's just so much that I don't know. There's future that I can't predict, tomorrows that I can't control. And there's immense joy in that.
Growing up, I used to think that the goal is to discover the end of a story. That's why the process on-going always got me restless and anxious. That's also why I often cheat by reading a full plot synopsis on Wikipedia during half-time of watching the said movie. Because the struggle is real, and I better know if it's worth the pain or not. I'd mentioned it again: for me, once, the goal is to always-knowing. To possess knowledge. To control the familiar. It gives me a sense of security every time I can oversee an act, especially when I can hold tight into its outcome. I guess the original need come thick from being afraid of failure, of a missed expectation, of disappointment. And motherhood has brought all that, one by one. So for the last one year, I learn to jump and swim deeper into the delightful pool of not knowing.
In the beginning, I feel that my day-to-day life was quite the same. But the more I observe together with my daughter, the more I lost the sense of myself —of everything I used to ignore or prejudice. She never refused to eat or explore anything, and I started to do the same. I used to hate pineapple in my pizza, but now I love them. I thought I knew how it tastes before, but no, the pineapple and paprika taste amazing together. I woke up by dawn because she made me to, and after a while, I enjoyed the stillness. I don't hate morning at all, as opposed to what I used to believe before. I also never thought that I could devote myself entirely in singing (or marching) to Old MacDonald Had A Farm at 1 PM on midday, but boy, it was fun. I see colours every day in my daughter's books and on the TV screen where the Youtube playlist roll; I see these colours gradually fill in my outfit preference, too. Whenever she made any progress, be that in her strength or motoric skill, I'd be thrilled in excitement because I have no expectation (A six-month-olds can actually lift a spoon and eat by herself? I did not know that!)
I will always remember our first girl-trip together. Last January 2020 ♥
And after missing so many events or hangouts with friends who live in another city for most of the time, I've grown to feel genuinely fascinated by their stories whenever we finally catch up. A friendship that withstands the test of time and distance could change a simple life update into one precious gem of a memoir. That goes with family, too. Every day I reconnect with my father, my mother and my sister through photo exchange and regular Facetime. The delay that exists between us, due to the lack of physical interaction and direct communication, has made me treasure each moment of our togetherness that I used to take for granted, pre-marriage. (In other words, we fight much, much less. And miss each other more.)
There's an immeasurable beauty on the verge of knowing just enough. And in accordance, the gratification we gain from being free of unsubstantial knowledge could be essentially liberating. (IN ANOTHER WORDs: NOT BEING THE ONE WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME WILL NOT MAKE US LESS worthy.)
I never feel any more content to say "Well, I don't know. I might have to do another research about it before I can consider giving any opinions." —there's a delight in admitting my limitation, to no longer obsessed to be the one with all the answers. (This is why I tweet very rarely, I assume.) Once I step back from the "stage" of knowing-it-all, I finally can sit and enjoy the front-view of seeing what life deliver for me... with all the challenge and reward being on and off the table, simultaneously. The year is 2020, and I (belatedly) learn that unattachment is such a magnificent present for the soul. My daughter knows so little, but at the same time, she knows just a bit of everything that she needs to create her admirable, fun, comfortable universe. There's an immeasurable beauty on the verge of knowing just enough. And in accordance, the gratification we gain from being free of unsubstantial knowledge could be essentially liberating. (In another words: not being the one who knows everything all the time will not make us less worthy.)
Of course, everything has its price. There are times when we should know well over a subject or a particular skill, and if possible, may we know them best; such as the moment we present ourselves in the professional career environment. But my key is to remind myself that I don't have to know everything all the time. Also, I can invest profoundly in the progress's journey, instead of constraining my time (and effort) to worry about the end-goal.
I once saved a note from Margaret Atwood, the amazing poet, who delivered this line at the end of her commencement speech at the University of Toronto (1983), as quoted below:
"You may not be able to alter reality, but you can alter your attitude towards it, and this, paradoxically, alters reality."
Dancing my way to the new age. Literally.
On the verge of not knowing everything, I found the solace of self-acceptance. Just like love, acceptance is not an eternal form of emotion but rather a changeful dynamics that we must put consistent effort into. And I'm ready to embrace it entirely. Encouraged, like a child often does, but hopefully wiser in the times of necessity.
So here we come, thirty-one. I don't know many things about being in the thirties, to start with (well, apart from the increasing possibility of arguments regarding the urgency of eye-cream use). But I fathom that I've known enough to, again, bet on my faith: this impending new-age of mine is going to be kind and magical. That one I know, for sure.
Bring it on, thirty-one.