I remember many years back when I was in Mayflower. I woke up one morning and hid behind my locker inside the hostel. The hostel warden came out of his room, screaming down on students and hurrying them to get prepared for classes. I was tucked neatly behind my locker, silently watching as students rose from their slumber and scrambled to the bathroom. My heart beat like a drum with the fear that I would be caught. It never happened. That was how I began ‘stabbing’ classes.
I’ve never really liked the idea of school. Gaining admission into Mayflower amplified my dislike. I stopped attending classes altogether at the age of 10. It became so bad that my father had to come fetch me from Mayflower and register me in another school entirely. I still harboured that same dislike for school. By the time I found my way into the university, I knew for certain that I wasn’t built for school. Or anything that required commitment. I struggled to admit it initially but I couldn’t ignore the overwhelming evidence: I wasn’t built for that life.
My father is a staunch Muslim. He married my mother a Christian and some years into their marriage, she converted to Islam, going on a pilgrimage to the holy ground and taking up a new name. I found it strange, considering how much of an independent thinker my mother was. She often said she made that decision because of us, the kids. I wish she had asked me prior; I would have confidently told her I wasn’t in support. My father tried to raise me in the ways of Islam but I never settled into the religion. Somehow, my mother took the blame for that. And converting to Islam was her way of proving to my father that she wasn’t swaying the children in another direction.
I never accepted Islam. I never finished from the university. I never followed the path my parents wanted for me. It caused a rift in our relationship, and that left a wound in my heart. But I couldn’t lie to myself for a second. I wanted to live for myself, unapologetically. My relationship with my parents is still shaky. My father calls me every now and then to ‘check’ up on me. It’s his way of gauging where I’m at in life. During our last conversation, we spoke about getting married and raising a family. He’s looking forward to those moments. I don’t know how to tell him that he might be waiting till eternity.
I don’t plan to get married. I don’t intend to have children. It’s a resolve I made many years ago. And with each year that passes, my resolve gets stronger. I’ve hardly been able to maintain relationships all my life. That’s not to say that I don’t crave companionship or that I’m not interested in building intimacy. I love and enjoy romantic relationships but the longest I’ve dated for is a little over a year. Like in every aspect of my life, I have a problem staying committed in relationships. My partners get frustrated by my lack of interest and inability to take things to a deeper level, and eventually have to leave the relationship. My life is littered with the carcasses of failed relationships.
I love friendships — at least the idea of them — even though I’m incapable of bonding or being vulnerable with people. You take the mask off the villain and it’s those commitment issues once again responsible for this incapability. People meet me for the first time and see this bright star, full of light and bubbling with energy. Naturally, they try to be friends with me and then get the shock of their lives when they are met with a cold reception. Subconsciously, I never let people in. It’s a protective measure I developed since childhood. Now, in my adult years, I can’t boast of five solid friendships.
My efforts in keeping a job long-term have been futile. I’ve not stayed at any job for more than eight months. I have been freelancing for most of my adult years. In between freelancing, I would apply for jobs and on the rare occasion that I was employed, I couldn’t retain any of the jobs. I would tell myself it was because the company’s goals didn’t align with mine, that my ambition is bigger than what employers can comprehend. It’s fascinating how the brain comes up with explanations for the most irrational behaviour that humans exhibit.
You would think not working a 9–5 means that I would take my personal career seriously. I’ve not made any meaningful progress in years. I’ve been running in circles and I can’t seem to break out of the loop. I’m always starting something new or returning to abandoned projects years later. I’ve not been consistent with anything long enough to benefit any rewards. It gets mentally exhausting to take interest in a thing and suddenly lose it in a couple of days or hours. My personal career has suffered greatly because of my fear of commitment.
When people ask me what I do for a living, I usually don’t have a definite answer. And that’s because I don’t want to pigeonhole myself. I’m still figuring out my interests and if I would ever commit myself to anything at all, it’s to the exploration of the world. Perhaps in the near future, I would ground myself in some ways. Until then, I remain untethered.
