I have to admit, I love the holidays.
The warm cozy sweaters, endless cups of tea, nights spent in with movies on the couch and countless dinners spent with family and dearest loved ones… It gets me every time. There’s a special, magical feeling in the air where the whole world returns “home” and gets in touch with their purest, most intimate parts of their personal lives. It’s touching. It’s scary. And it can get damn emotional.
My family lost a loved one this year. In fact, it was my Grandpa. It was sudden and unexpected. There was no clear-cut reason or premonition we could have had. I had just come home that Saturday morning from work to an empty house that seemed oddly wrecked–phone cord riled up and slippers tossed lazily across the floor. I knew something was up.
That whole period struck an odd chord in me. I shut down. I couldn’t get myself excited or inspired by anything. It killed a little piece inside of me. And my family. Something in me turned off.
I took a “break” from life, it seemed. Albeit, I still worked a lot–endlessly throughout the holidays. Early morning shifts, late nights, losing sleep and dazing away in the coffee shop. Sometimes, it helped me get my mind off things. (And hey, I learned how to make my first latte!)
But, just as I was beginning to find my “groove” and hunger again–for music, for playing guitar, for new articles and daily jogs–I lost it. I gave up fighting for my music, my writing and dreams for a period of time that seems so hazy to me… The “holidaze,” I will say.
And in the spirit of the holidays, I spent a lot of time at home with my family, taking extra “me” time to veg it out and indulge in the most delicious Filipino food from the motherland, obsess over silly crushes on Ryan Gosling and #Pornstache, create a musically-inspired Secret Santa gift for my manager at work and just… Take a break.
I admit, it saddens me to admit how much I’ve grown apart from the pieces of myself that keep my soul its happiest within the past weeks, because in all my years of growing up, ever since I was a 15-year-old girl first admitting to myself that I want to write and play music for life, I have never ever felt so dead, uninspired, or even tired–in my entire life (especially as a chronically optimistic and positive person).
It was as if I had done so much to have gotten to this point in my life–maybe “peaking too fast” at 22–that all my feasible goals have been achieved and I don’t know what to aim for next.
It’s been a wild year, 2015. I began the year with accomplishing my biggest musical writing dreams through extensive interviewing, befriending and becoming closer to the band and bandmates who had inspired me to play music 10 years ago; I moved on to taking my senior year for myself, attending concerts and writing about them, interviewing more musicians, and “dating”; I came of age and went to Vegas for the first time–and loved it; I graduated with a double-major feeling ever so grateful; I came to terms with postgrad and rekindled my love for music and video-making; I got my first part-time job as a coffee shop barista; and my following increased right before my eyes, just by playing music.
I’m still waking up from the “haze” of the “holidaze,” and maybe the new year will sink in for me soon to think up what I really want to do and accomplish for the year… But for now, I will just continue to do what I do, tread on and figure myself out along the way.
It may be a struggle now, but may we all continue to keep our hearts young and passions alive.
For music. For word. For expression. For love.
With love and warmth,