Relatable and not cute

Of the three common taboos (death, sex, and money), money for me is the most awkward (at best) and shameful (at worst/usual) topic.

It's awkward/deeply anxiety inducing not knowing how much I'm being paid compared to my colleagues. I feel that I'm underpaid. I don't know the stats and figures and trends, it's just an educated guess.

It's awkward/deeply anxiety inducing lying to friends about being too busy to hang out because the proposed plans are too expensive (a $4.90 coffee counts as too expensive most days).

It's awkward/deeply anxiety inducing when the first Happy Birthday text I recieve is from Moola and I remember every other short-term loan and debt collector I owe money to.

It's awkward/deeply anxiety inducing asking parents or friends to borrow money. I know I'm borrowing money from people who aren't giving from a comfortable pool of savings or excess dispoable income. We are the struggling helping the struggling.

It is my New Year's resolution to save $500. An amount I find anxiety inducing to tell people. I worry that this is a small inconsequential amount to them and they are judging me for making the bar so low.

I also worry that this amount is too high and they can't imagine putting that amount of money aside over 12 months due to their low income and high living costs.

I don't want to make someone else feel ashamed for how little money they have. I don't want them to feel the same way I do when friends so casually talk about how spending $800 on return flights is such a great price and I pretend that the reason I'm not tagging along is simply out of lack of interest.

I want to be better with money.

I want to take steps so that money is less awkward/anxiety inducing.

I am taking steps.

Perfectionism: A Word Vomit

I am so terrified about not being absolutely amazing at everything I do.

I'm pretty sure I've said that in a previous blog post but I'm too scared to re-read any of them in case I don't love them. Then I'll feel like a useless failure.

And I feel dumb for putting too much pressure on myself about this blog, which I titled "Drafts" in the spirit of the mess and imperfection of stream of consciousness blog posting.

I caught up with a friend over a foodcourt dinner and coffee (iced) and he reminded me that I truly have the skills, ideas, and an imperitive to write.

Nothing I do stems from a place of self-acceptance and self-compassion. I'm usually motivated by fear and obligation and when it comes to... er, life. But with writing, those two things just aren't cutting it anymore.

I run away from writing projects and assignments and I don't feel like there's any real need for me to write. I give into the fear and I lose a sense of obligation.

My friend reminded me that I have a very specific voice and specific perspective that actually makes for compelling writing. Maybe not in these blog posts, but there are things that I want to write about, that will add value into other people's lives.

I want to pull away from the rigidity of perfection on the one hand, and everything else that's trash on the other.

I know how my fear of failure is tied to my childhood anxieties and expereinces, I just don't know how to move passed it.

Just Some Thoughts 001

I think I'm a perfectionist. But I haven't done any thorough research so this isn't a claim I make with any certainty or authority.

I keep waiting for an ephipany, lightning to strike, or a burning bush.

But I can't wait any longer. I mustn't. I have to rub my own damp and crappy sticks together to make a small ember, then fan the shit out of whatever sparks into something that can bring light and warmth.

Here are some of my first strikes:

1. When a sad or scary situation happen, I'm... fine. I become a bit robotic and eerily calm and am able to just focus on problem solving. If it's not a situation that can be solved, I can sit there until the danger passes.

2. When I'm met with kindness and goodness and utter happiness, I cry. I want to cry when someone is gracious, forgiving, and understanding. I cry when someone shows me they love me more than I expected. I cry when good things. I never think good things should happen to me.

3. I spent so so SO much time and actual effort as a teenager trying to be DiFfErEnT. I loved to hear that I wasn't like other “girls”, “Samoans”, “people your age”, “people from South Auckland”, or any other identifier which I thought were lesser. It's only years later that I see that I had internalised so much sexism, racism, classism, and fatphobia (thanks internet cos no one in my real life taught me any of that lol). I loved to be complemented by being told that I surprise people, that I don't fit into the stereotypes someone had assumed of me. There's a term I've come across and would like to delve more into - respectability politics. Respectability politics is the expectation/social pressure put on individuals from marginalised groups* *(an idea I want to explore in another piece) to behave not only differently but better than the specific ways their group looks/behaves normally. Well that was an overly simply and perhaps inaccurate summation, and there are a lot of smarter analysis that political/social science/critical thinking writers have done that explore the wider social motivations behind this idea.

For me, I wanted white boys to fall in love with me.

4. I have a favourite ex that I like to talk about to anyone who wants to hear about my short-lived and not-at-all-whirlwind romance. Ours was a steady and sure love that I felt so safe and happy in. And when I talk about him to others, I begin to romanticise and miss him. Then I make a quick pro con list and force myself to remember that he was also flaky, kept big life secrets from me that affected our relationship, and he never really saw a future with me. That pops my What If bubble real quick and I'm able to land at a peaceful middle where I'm utterly grateful to have met and been in love with him, and glad that it ended when it did.