23, sadness and running out of time
Growing up, I’m obsessed with the number 23.
I can bet it all started from that one movie I, Origin. I remember vividly that the main character was seeing number 11 everywhere he went. Eventually, he decided to follow that calling: 11.11 change, 11 bus… into the place where he would meet his soulmate. Or like what they would say, that number represents cosmic connection or even destiny. That day, after I watched that movie, remind you, I’m probably in middle school, I was on an adventure to seek my number. My angel number. The number that can define my path in this world. Lead me to where I need to be, meet who I need to cross. There, I found 23 standing at the premise of almost of everything I know and love.
It’s the address of the place where I first ran out of the house when I’m in 12th grade. It’s the number of the page if I randomly open my Literature textbook. It’s in my drink order. It’s somehow inserted in almost every movies or series I watch, either the character’s age or being mentioned as a weird fact (Don’t believe me? Try to seek it out). It's carved on a random door. It’s in the bottom of my box? Okay, I think it’s a very pretty number too! It’s a prime number and goes together, like come on, 1, 2, 3? My last name is Chu so I alwasy like 2 already (but 2 is such an easy likable prime number and I definitely want to be different than other around that age)
One thing I have to admit, once you like something, you seek it out more. Intentionally. I tried to find 23 in almost everything in my life. But I think that’s how life is, honestly. Some psychology experts here please confirm. Anyways, I think as long as I follow 23, it can become that joyful moments where everything clicks and I can be, oh the universe is talking to me (and it also doesn’t hurt!). Taylor Swift’s house in New York was in 23 Cornelia Street? That random guy I liked back was born on the 23rd? I won a broadway ticket and I took my ex partner to watch broadway for the first time, that day was the 23rd? My check number is 23? Gosh it’s everywhere! You have to see my excitement when it’s the year 2023, it’s truly an amazing year.
Because of this wonderful number, I sometimes ask my friends what’s their favorite number. I don’t think people care about it much but it’s great to see them take time to think about it. Some are their birthdate number. Some are the month. Some have a great reason like the number has to be prime and have some functions behind it. It could be the number of their favorite player. It could be a number they see everyday but never really notice. Whatever the reason, what’s your favorite number?
Hence, becoming 23 is a big deal for me. It’s scary. It’s lonely. This year hasn’t been that favorable towards me to a point that I have to get out of the country, travel to somewhere far away, to not feel in the moment or be so occupied that I could not feel a thing. I was intentionally planning thing so that I can be fine with myself, my heart, my body, and my mind.
I’ve been unwell with my mind. Unwell with my body. I haven’t puked in years since primary school, and yet in the span of 2 weeks, I puked twice. Lost 3kg in the whole journey. Unable to find joy, I thought about ending things, which I found silly because of a failed relationship? I just felt that I lost my anchor that was holding up my depression and eventually it was overbearing. As I was reaching out to my dearest friends, and I say this in the kindest way possible, none of them was helpful. Not that they can handle me, it’s just no one knows how to help me. I sought therapy, horrible decision. I signed up for mental health app, terrible decision. I confided in my mom, she tried but not helping. I hate reexplaining to people about my problems since what I feel was a repetitive pattern. “Why are you not over this yet?” sign. “Time will heal” conversation. To a point, I feel like there’s no reason for me to feel better as I was getting too comfortable in that sadness sinkhole. Yea, I’m a sadness blob, a crybaby, the one who needs help. Hence, I made a plan to run away, out of here.
Travel changes you. As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life — and travel — leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks — on your body or on your heart — are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt. (Anthony Bourdain)
I went back to the place that would hurt me the most. The place where I’m the meanest and the most sensitive. The anger my inner child bears all those years. The gentle heart that my naive self long for being listened and heard. I went out almost everyday, meeting different friends for morning, for lunch, for afternoon, for afternoon, and for dinner. I ate 6 meals per day. Gaining 3kg that I lost. Trying things I haven’t tried before. Felt free and trapped. Felt lost and found. As I am trying to find the fragments of my younger self, I realized I have lost them along the way. Of course, It’s been years since I left.
Growing up, I have returned looking for the pieces of myself. Just to realize, they have long gone, what’s left is memories. Why can’t I forget them? Is growing older means leaving your old self behind, from now on, making new memories, reinventing yourself constantly? Who am I then?
My friend told me mid-journey,
Running away doesn’t always solve your problem. Anthony travelled all around the world and he couldn’t escape his mind.
Get Chu Chu’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
as I sobbed non-stop to Taylor Swift’s All Too Well (10 minutes version). I’ve always tried to find a way to accept that ugly side of mine. That sadness. I once almost okay with it when a dear friend said they like my blues. Somethings no one has ever said it to me. The way I look at the world and how I treasure it more than others, even though I keep saying like I want it to stop. In a way, I always know it because I always seek for help.
Anyways, I have been digressing from my point. I apoligize, this is a flow of thoughts, a rant — to be exact.
I’ve never liked my birthday. Even though this 23rd one has to be the most special of them all. AND it’s in May? Gosh I love May. In Vietnamese, it’s pronounced as Mây, meaning clouds. I love that floaty fluffy blob in the sky, moving with the wind, creating a beautiful blue painting spotted by whites. It probably has to be dated from when I was in primary school when I have my birthday party. All of my relatives are there and I invited my closest friend from school and their siblings as well. I was in my princess dress, pretty, and it’s time to make a wish, when my best friend’s brother blew my candles and I cried. I don’t want to make a wish anymore. I remember after, I rarely have birthday parties anymore. It’s always because my birthday is in the summer, and families with kids always have plans for their kids for a different vacation. Or that summer, people have to prepare for entrance exam, couldn’t make it to my birthday. Later on, I have less friends for various reasons, never really throw a big birthday party. It would be between close friends and family always. Or it’s that horrendous pandemic that I had to stay away from everyone.
I guess I don’t like it because how lonely that day would make me feel. I’m so jealous of people who got thrown a surprise birthday party. I’m jealous of people who post others on the internet, who travelled to the other person’s house with a cake in their hand. I’m jealous of myself, who would go extra length’s to do all those extra stuff to show off my love to people but not to mine. I intentionally turned off Facebook birthday reminder to see who remember mine. One time, I got too scared and deactivated everything so that I won’t know who doesn’t remember. I eventually find birthday is just a day to remind myself that I’m 1 year older.
Now, being 23 feels weird. Nothing seems to matter to me anymore. People can forget me. Forget my birthday. Forgot how big of a deal this number mean to me. Forget that I’m once a big part of their daily life. I’ll get sad and cry about it. But in the end of the day, nothing truly matter sanymore. Life is so busy that people can’t even take care of themselves. I forget people’s birthday too. Who am I to be sad or to get angry at things? I can’t force someone to remember me. I can’t force people to like me (yay me got out of my people pleaser phase). I can’t force people to stay in my life. It’s just another day for others. Maybe it means something a bit different to my close ones. But it’s just a Tuesday.
I’m always so honest about my feelings and want to talk about it. I want to go to the depth of the soul and touch it. I never want surface-level friendship or love. I hope that now I’m older, I hope I can protect my heart, my body, and my mind better. I always feel like I’m running out of time, if of course, I still plan to stop it at 30. But till then, I think I have a long way to go. Too many things to experience. Too many places I haven’t been to. Too many sides of myself I have yet to explore. Too many friends I haven’t made. Too many lives I can live. To be honest, I’m kind of scared but excited of it. If 23 can lead me to something, if universe called. If something happened at being 23 years old.
As I go on this journey called life, it’s only me who can help myself. I can let myself feel things, because that’s how I find life beautiful, that I can feel stuff. Hỷ nộ ái ố, I appreciate all sort of emotions I feel and I feel deeply and intensely. I am the one who can drag myself out of my sadness sinkhole, no sooner than later ;)
Time is not running out when turned 23.
Yesterday, my drink order was 24. I smiled, for I guess, my number continued. I can also do 23 + 1 from now haha.
https://youtu.be/nc1XqOds2gc?si=ZorIW7vXXWmQfnPO
Happy belated birthday to my 23 year-old self!
May you always find love in this life and people who stay and treasure you. May you find people who don’t get scared of the tough conversation and face this crazy thing called life with you.
Q.
