Stale Fried Rice

Just under two years ago, in front of a MacBook with a dozen tabs open, head buzzing from too much caffeine.

If anyone had told me I would enjoy breathing in the morning air, thinking about what I was going to make for dinner, I would have scoffed.

Unthinkable. Why would I be doing that?

Do they not know how hard I had worked for this? The sleepless nights, the declined invitations, feeling like I made it but coming home to stale fried rice.

Why would I think about slowing down at all? Why does getting what I want feel so hollow? Like the stale coffee and fried rice.

“Where do you see yourself in the next 5 years?” Schools and recruiters seem to enjoy asking this. It almost feels rhetorical, until you realise you actually need to answer.

I thought I’d remain in the UK, get a job there. Then I was in Malaysia, thinking maybe social work, maybe dance. Somehow I ended up in tech, then Australia. I couldn’t tell you why.

Looking back, I really had no idea where I was going to end up. I know how I got here, but somehow still feel astonished every time I think about it.

What I still find difficult is making choices, knowing that you’re closing a thread. Picking a version of yourself you can live with.

What about the others? They linger in my mind like parallels, never really gone. Maybe that’s what decisions really are - not just closing threads, but acknowledging the ones that made space for the life I have now. The uninterrupted morning walk. The dinner I’m actually looking forward to.

Whatever I think the next 5 years will look like, it will probably be different.