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The Jotter Nook

Finding myself in the pieces of me

In my quest to self-learn Japanese, I came across the phrase 巻き込む (makikomu).1 It means to roll up, to involve, to enfold, to swallow up, to drag into, such as in the sentence, "Beware that you don't get into trouble." The word maki (巻) means to roll/(a) roll and is the same kanji found in the California maki you can eat.

Recently, this phrase got me pondering—as I'm often prone to—about how our responses (or mine at least) are never made in isolation to the events that occur. Rather, they are a result of a combination of factors that may include our childhood and past experiences, our prior interactions with a person or our mood on a particular day. Our history and emotions all rolled up and entangled in these reactions that just happen, before we are even aware of what we are saying or doing—the baggage from our past spilling over into our today.

Lately, I've often let my emotions get the better of me. I've always been rather emotional as far as I can remember, though that has never been apparent to most people. I have always kept my feelings under wraps in order to appear steady, like I've got it all together, because the alternative would just be embarrassing.2

Sometime after moving abroad, possibly due to stress and isolation that led to a bit of depression, I noticed a seismic shift in my moods. There were good days, okay days, bad days and really bad days, and they seemed to have a rough sort of correlation to my monthly cycle.

On the really bad days, I'd literally feel a buzzing sense of irritation upon awakening that would continue throughout the day. Little things that never were a problem on other days would set me off. I yelled at my son a lot. And I cried a lot, as did he. Those were truly awful times, where I felt emotions I couldn't control and where I became a person I did not recognise.

Things have been better for some time now, and I no longer experience those extreme moods. However, I've noticed that I still fly off the handle and get into my angry-mum tirade when my son doesn't listen after several times of telling him nicely. I don't do it intentionally. Instead, after a sudden rise of frustration, I snap, and I just react in that way, almost out of habit.

Upon that realisation, I discover that I have been running on autopilot for a while now, living life in a daze of sorts, unaware and unthinking. Much of what I think, say and do is a result of muscle memory or a knee-jerk reaction. I have not been reflecting on my thoughts, words and actions. Consequently, I have not been growing.

The lack of intentionality (or lack of initiative, as I sometimes hear from my husband) is something quite common for me. Perhaps it is due to ADHD, but there are many things that just don't bother me in the same way that they might for someone else. I can be quite content with the status quo. I don't often notice mess and dirt, and when I do, I can easily dismiss it and carry on with my day. I simply tolerate things the way they are, good or bad, like how I scratch my itch as part of my daily routine instead of putting in the effort to find a solution to this problem. (My skin's been worse recently due to the winter-like temperatures. Plus, the air has been so dry of late.)

It is for this same reason that I was able to live most of my life without realising that I even had any challenges. I was so accustomed to forgetfulness, disorganisation, procrastination, overwhelm and tiredness; to hunting around for my phone, and rushing to pack my things to get out of the house on time; to taking things out and leaving them randomly, and starting my work preparations for the next day at 11pm—they were all just regular parts of my day, the normal everyday me. Like breathing, I did these things involuntarily, and I was hardly aware that they were even a problem.

In fact, when I first started suspecting that I might have ADHD, I only received moderate results on the online quizzes that I tried out. It was only after deeper reflection that I started to realise that I actually did have all the traits listed, and I just didn't know it at the time.

Even coming to that first awareness of ADHD was not intentional. One day, after another rehash regarding the mess in the home, I found myself trying to explain how it got there. I really wasn't trying to make a mess. I just took something, and halfway through using it, I thought of something else. Naturally, I then left said item wherever I was and moved on to that something else. The cycle would continue, and the mess would make itself. It was only then that I was hit with the realisation of how chaotic my brain was and how I was whisked away, not of my own choice, to wander down the various uncharted paths that my mind led me to.

Later on, I would face the irony that I had taught students in the past with this condition and had never once associated myself with it. Moreover, I realised that a number of recent students I taught could possibly have it too. Funny thing was, I was helping them with all these executive functioning skills when it turned out that I needed help with the exact same skills I was teaching them. I was completely clueless back then.

It is with all this in mind that I now find a clear purpose for writing here. I am writing in a bid to understand myself and as an exercise in self-discovery. Presently, when I think about who I am as a person, it feels to me like peering into a misted mirror—I can't see myself clearly. My mind is convoluted, and my thoughts are foggy. I often feel that I don't know what I think unless I talk about it or write it out. I find that writing brings a form of clarity, even as these abstract and fleeting thoughts are brought into the physical form of words, sentences and paragraphs.

I don't believe that discovering myself is all there is to it, but I see it as learning a tool in order to use it well, much like being able to read a map so I can find my way, and as a method to take the plank out of my own eye so I can see clearly.3

I hope that in doing so, by and by, I will find myself in these pieces of me.4'5'6

  1. This definition was taken from Nihongo Master.↩

  2. Sometimes I think that, like Judy from Paddington, I suffer from (in Paddington's words) a serious condition called Embarrassment. I often find it embarrassing to do something I am unaccustomed to. For example, if I were to start cycling as a mode of transport, I would find that embarrassing because I would feel like an imposter or a wannabe, afraid that someone would see through my fraud that I am not, in fact, one of those who actually cycles as a form of commute. It is highly illogical, but yes, I feel embarrassment and fear embarrassment about very random things. I should work on this.↩

  3. You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. This is something that came up recently in a conversation with my husband. In the present world where many are quick to criticise others yet do the exact same thing and fail to see it, I want to be one who pursues self-reflection.↩

  4. Here and in the title of this post, the word pieces refers to both the written work of a blog post and the parts of me that are revealed in my writings.↩

  5. I like onions. I also like layers. I once took a photograph that I really liked for a narrative photography module. It was taken at a Chinese opera that was held for a religious festival, which I had to take a boat ride to an island to get to. The performers were getting dressed backstage, applying makeup and putting on headdresses. The one shot that I particularly liked captured two performers in their preparations, with the one in the background as the focus and the one in the foreground out of focus. I liked the layering I captured in that shot, as there was a certain depth to it. (Sadly, I've lost all my photographs from that time, as my data couldn't be recovered from my old laptop hard drives.)↩

  6. Similarly, I like layers in names. My son's Chinese name, which I came up with in what could only be a divinely inspired moment, has layered meanings. One of the silly reasons I enjoy blogging right now is because I really like the name I came up with for this blog. The Jotter Nook is a play on jotter book, which is a place to jot things down. But by changing just one letter, nook brings an added depth to the meaning of it being a little corner on the web. I wouldn't be surprised if I had lost interest earlier had the name been less inspired. Even my blog description is layered, where life notes from one me to another could be read as me writing notes to my future self and can also be understood to be notes that show a progression from the past me to the present me. So yes, I like layers, and I like naming things, especially when I can come up with a particularly good one.↩