I Resigned

I resigned yesterday. It was surreal and quick. I still cannot believe it. My body seemed to not be able to handle it, and I could feel red, hot, gaseous bile rising that kept me up and walking almost the entire night. Yesterday morning was colossally bad, and I could not seem to wait for the written offer for this new job, and everything was getting too scratchy with my skin and patience. And it just happened. All of a sudden. I got it, and I sent that heavily marinated letter of resignation. Then the barrage of messages and calls hit me. I just took them, answering with first thoughts with my mind. Did not think at all. No second thoughts injected by others' manipulation. I stood still. I have to. All of last year, I resigned every day from the joys of life (I cannot believe I am using phrases like 'joys of life,' though...), cribbed every single minute, and cried my eyes out thanking I have a remote job so my co-workers cannot see me cry. And, I cannot believe I was the one who decided to put an end to it yesterday. I felt capability seeping into my veins, invading with fear and cowardice. A pool of brave tremor? Courageous hesitation? When you live life starved of purpose and lack of prosper, any fresh air of change will send a chill down your spine. Trigger your gut. Open up your untapped marrow of life to possible infections too. The following hours felt blurrily bizarre. Like, I could almost hear the sound of my own pulse thumping in my throat, a constant reminder that this was real. I thought about how little of it made sense—how everything had felt like a long, drawn-out mistake that I had grown used to. Yet, here I was, making the decision that would set it all in motion. I had always pictured this moment, decided how it would feel, the exact words I would say, but reality never really follows the script you write. There’s no cinematic relief, no big dramatic pause where everything falls into place. It’s just... quiet. And in that quiet, I could feel something inside me starting to shift. It’s not peace, exactly, but a heavy silence. The kind that comes right before something profound changes. I thought I would feel stronger, like a person who finally figured it out. Instead, I felt small. A bundle of fear wrapped up in impatience, waiting to see what this “bravery” would lead to. Would it unravel me? Would I be someone completely different when it was all over? Or would I be just a mess, wandering in a new direction? Still, there’s a strange comfort in the mess. A feeling of being exposed, raw, vulnerable even, but alive in a way I hadn’t felt in months. I guess this is what they don’t tell you about breaking away from something that’s been draining the life out of you. You’re not met with instant relief but with a stark awareness of how long you’ve been in that space. It’s like stepping into daylight after a long, endless night—your eyes struggle to adjust, but you know it’s a good thing. So, I sit here now, waiting for the next wave to come, not knowing what will happen next, but understanding that I had to be the one to pull myself out. Even if it means stumbling, even if it means falling. At least I know I’m falling forward.

Through the trees, a glimmer of orange light—like the first spark of change. Resigning was my sunrise. New beginnings of embracing change.

- Oizys.

If you’re standing on the edge of something you’ve outgrown, what will you wait to walk through? What does it feel like to step out; not backward, not yet forward; but into the quiet in between?

The Best Endings Are Always Wrapped In Change (Or, Just The Anticipation Of It?)

Life is not concrete. Endings are not coherent. Is it supposed to make sense? Or it does not, but since it has already happened, we attribute certain sense to it so we can manipulate ourselves? Sometimes, all you need is one small beam of blurriness, and it can heal wounds that you thought never existed. Even if it unresolves itself later, it balms your red-coaled belly with all its layers turned inside out with somersaulting anxiety and panic attacks. The whole year I kept diminishing myself in size, in attitude, in mindset, in living. I erased myself so much that I felt more disappeared than I could. I shrank my existence. Kept my mind thirsty until it started scratching its own surface looking for droplets of survival. And all it took was one phone call. Few words to describe the verbal offer of a job for which I haven't received the letter. And it made me the picture of health and contentment. Made me shiver with all the happiness that I had buried deep inside my mother's old almirah. It made me question all of it at once. Is it real? Or am I dreaming? Since when have I started dreaming in high quality, though? I am still the same, but something just changed forever. Is this what change is like? So quietly seismic, like the moment you realise you’ve been holding your breath for a decade and now you can finally exhale. Does this mean I have come up with new fodder for my mental masturbation, by the way? Does this mean I have to move forward? Evolve? I have to grow. I have to be more. I cannot shrivel up under my three layers of blankets whenever things get difficult and not eat for a week. The last day of this parched year ended with getting absolutely gutted sick after eating some overpriced pizza, which was mildly tasteful. I cannot decide whether it was worth it or not. Because I cannot, until now, believe some things might actually be happening. To me. For me. In favour of me. For some reason, it is not an idea that is exactly chewable for me. Perhaps the indigestion? I keep thinking, why do I think like this? Am I truly not capable, or is it just a long year of nothingness and rejections that made my confidence starve to the brink of extinction? I just knew I had to write. Write something. So that I can store it, ink it forever. That at least one random anonymous account on the wide web will read and decide to leave an ambiguous comment underneath. Because I know this for sure: there are many more worse days to come in a life like mine, but such moments of giddy and childlike hope will perhaps keep me going, keep me grounded, keep me reminded that I was once capable of feeling worthy, happy, & sanguine… This is anyone who ever reads this (if anyone reading this): I sincerely distribute this meagre ration of hope amongst you that you get all of what you hope for this new year. Even if you are scared. Even if you are confused. Even if you are a bit inexperienced. Even if you fail after you get it. You are unsure. Indecisive. I hope you get it. And experience it. Experiment with it. Perhaps, just merely surviving is getting old now. Maybe it is time for enjoying the ride once in a while. I cannot, for my life, believe I am typing all of this. Words with scorching optimism. And maybe all of this gets undone when I wake up tomorrow. But I have recorded this moment forever with my words, and I will make it my point of return when things go haywire in the opposite direction.

- Oizys.