In the news, friends of friends, the NBA community, and everyoneās social media posts. I cannot escape it, death, they say itās inevitable, but Iāve never had trouble forgetting.
Funerals and deathly illnesses seem so beyond the worries of a twenty-two-year-old girl, and surely, the intellects would find a cure, and everything will be fine. But these days, death leaves no escape reminding everyone that life is short and death, inevitable.
I refused to take any interest in make-up, wore baggy clothes, and a ādonāt careā attitude. I labelled myself as āweird,ā adventurous,ā and āblunt,ā all in an attempt to create some sort of identity for myself.
When I finally realized the labels Iāve claimed for most of my life didnāt apply to me anymore, I didnāt know how to disassociate myself from that girl who felt disgusted by dresses and bad-mouthed classmates who wore make-up in middle school (sorry Carly). ā¦
Thereās no singular way to tell the story of āLife After Universityā because there are always multiple sub-stories. Depending on what I choose to write about, one aspect, like the constant moving, can turn into the main point of the diaries. But if Iām honest, itās so much more than that.
Part One: https://medium.com/@kmelyng/life-after-university-diaries-321539fdb70d
I might have failed to mention on the last night of the LA business trip, my bosses decided to call a meeting at 11pm. Exhausted, I rolled off the bed and sat up. After back and forth chit-chat about our thoughts on the week, our bossesā¦
About: This is first of however many āLife After Universityā diaries I decide to make. I want to document what itās like to be a young person navigating the world around them. Through loneliness, running, and creating, I want to rediscover my childhood dreams and understand what it means to ābeā with so many paths to choose from. In this article, I discuss my job-hunting process, moving to a different city, and work.
I always imagined myself unemployed or stuck with some part-time job after the first few months, or year, after I graduated from University. Itās not because Iā¦
Tears, Loneliness, & Maximum Optimization.
Yes, itās true. Itās an open office equipped with a gym, a basketball court, free dinners, and snacks. You can count the number of people in the company with your hands, and the founder sits right beside me. Everyone rides their bikes to work, and I read a new book every two weeks⦠at least thatās the current plan (you never really know).
Yes, everything you heard about the start-up world is true. Except for the beanbag chairs. I havenāt unlocked that level yet. ā¦
It was the summer after my first year at University, and I had secured my first waitressing job at a private yacht club in Toronto. It was a 2.5-hour commute each way that involved a bus, a train, a streetcar, a little walk, and a private ferry. The first day I was given a few instructions before I was thrown in the waters. Nervously, I served my first customer; it was quite awkward, but the challenge excited me. Fast-forward 4 months, 12-hour shifts and cranky customers, waitressing became the hardest and most rewarding job Iāve ever had. ā¦
Last semester, September to December for those who arenāt in college, I wasnāt feeling well. There was the binging, the purging, the isolating, and the weekly crying sessions. I couldnāt connect to reality and despite trying to ārefresh,ā I was stuck in a blur.
I talk more about these āfeelingsā here:
Itās New Yearās Eve and people gather with strangers, friends, and family, anticipating whatever the new year brings, hope.
(and a January gym rush filled with newbies, poor form, and a line-up at my favorite machine).
Hope for fresh starts, new beginnings, and something like a dream. New years is magical, whether you are clinking glasses, below crackling fireworks, cheering loudly, or snoring away; as the hand approaches 12, everyone is given another chanceā¦
ā¦to break resolutions and the excuse to drink till youāre babbling to your ex.
New years resolutions get a bad rep for not sticking.
The monthā¦
Currently: Post-Grad Crisis