Age of Crisis?

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I turned 25 on May 26th.

As I am now a quarter of century old, I have been thinking about myself and apparently most people’s questions here: what are you going to do now? And the most favorite of all: when are you going to get married?

If you live in a country of mine, and you are in the mid-20s and just started working last year and single, maybe we are in the same team. The questions above are what people I know–mostly relatives will ask toward you. I mean, seriously. Can they ask other questions like: how’s your career? Do you find your work fun? Are you seeing someone right now? Do you want me to introduce you to someone nice? Or etc. which I hope they would sorta get it that not everyone needs those.

And yes I still have my career at a stake, because as much as I love teaching, I feel like I’m ‘worn-out’ due to the routine I have now. My close friends who know me say I easily get bored. I can stand just one thing, I’d go to other things to entertain myself. Which I don’t do for the last 6 months. I fell into routine, working six days a week, from midday to night, forced to be creative everyday to make the lessons interesting. Then again to face people with different background and characteristics. If they are easy to cooperate, it would be fun to teach them. But not everyone is like that. I’m still looking for other jobs that will let me to do my hobbies, too. I miss reading. I miss writing fictions. I miss hang out with friends without thinking what should I do for my next class.

A girl can hope, right?

I’m still moving on. Though there are  times I will feel lost, don’t what to do, what to start, what to say, and so many overthinking thoughts. I might have anxiety disorder, you’ll never know. But what’s a normal thing nowadays? I have no idea.

Well, this is just unimportant whine-or-rant-or-whatever-blog post. As I’m writing this I have just finished watching Big Time on Fox Movies. And it’s ten minutes to midnight so I’m tired after a long day.

Have a great Saturday night, netizens.

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