After spending the whole night doing a bunch of random stuff with my fourteen-year-old brother to cope with jetlag (this needs a whole note dedicated to itself!), I finally went down to spring-cleaning business. There are three large suitcases in my tiny room and finding space to fit all my winter coats and scarves (which would be no use in hot and sunny Malaysia) is definitely a challenge.
There’s a whole world to be discovered underneath my bed; I found a first-aid kit with nothing that could save my life in there, a whole box of silver spoon collection from all over the world (my dad’s, what’s it doing here? mess up your own room, dad!), my old stamp collection (as if I have not proven my geekiness enough!) and a whole box filled with old journals and organizers.
I took out my very first journal—a black leather-bound given to me by my dad when I was just seven years old. I kept that diary all throughout primary school. Inn it you’d find everything that you ever need to know about my childhood interests and aspirations. They haven’t really changed, more than a decade now, to be honest. I still like boys and aspire to be as rich as I can be.
I saw too many entries with boys names in it, and soo many lists of why I liked or disliked certain boys in classes. (I liked one because apparently, “He doesn’t like sluts,” and hated another because, “He gets angry too easily.” Oh so amusing, mini me!) There were photos of my best friends and cut-outs from my mother’s interior home magazines (to represent my dream home someday) and just day-to-day entries usually starting with Today my day was very boring … or Today I had so much fun!
But the one thing that most defined me was the first entry I wrote at seven years old on the very first page of that journal. I remember, I sat in front of my grandmother’s coffee table while watching Cartoon Network and I planned my whole life then. Somehow, that became my blueprint and so far, I have kept up with the plan.
Next to each goal on the list was a tiny box for me tick off. There’s nothing more satisfying than ticking off a goal; but to tick one off you planned as a seven-year-old; that’s meaningful beyond words. In the fifth box, was written in rounded, large handwriting “Graduate,” and in blue pen, I drew the prettiest tick I could with my limited artistic skill. I did that with a big smile on my face, and right then, graduation finally meant something to me. I’ll always remember how I felt when I ticked that off, what song I was listening to, Coldplay “Lost.” (Yeah, am finally listening to someone other than John Mayer!)
What comes after graduation was a career plan thought of as a young girl who didn’t have a clue about what work really meant; she just wanted to be wealthy! Perhaps that’s where it stops; me ticking off this plan, but I know what she wanted, the young girl I was—and I will never let her down.
