Where's my Boeuf Bourguignon?

I had some time to kill at the airport the other morning, perks of having Netflix on my phone, I managed to watch at least a decent part of my favourite movie, ‘Julie Julia Project’. Based on a true story and the protagonist ‘Julia Child’, an amazing chef, I managed to see similarities between the movie and me.

I oddly realised that’s exactly what my life looks like right now. For those of you who have watched the movie, no I don’t hate my job, and no I’m not married or have a significant other and i definitely do not have differences my mother.I still have meltdowns and still feel insufficient and feel like I let my loved ones down.

As a 20 something girl, who has a full time job, I do study now too. It’s honestly not the easiest thing to do, and yes I get late for submissions, I miss out on making time for my friends, I don’t remember the last time I watched a movie in a theatre, and probably need to have stalk up on some extra T-shirts and underwear, because I sometimes forget to wash them. 

I do have meltdowns, and yes mostly in the kitchen, at night when everyone’s asleep and I’m still up finishing my writing and some editing work if there is. My hot cup of coffee is my saviour and I talk to it, just to imagine that someday it might talk back to me, telling me that it’s going to be alright. 

My meltdowns are most of the times, twice a week, where I don’t remember why I decided to be a student again, why my research work sometimes takes me 2 hours a night, twice a week, and work the next morning, 5 days a week. 

I sob like a child, and curl into my bed, magically hoping that the next morning things will be ok. Well, surprise surprise, everything is still the same, just the way I left it. Only difference being, my mother may have cleaned it up and arranged those piles of papers and books I may have strewn around the previous night. Yes I have a countdown, only difference from the movie being, people don’t know about it, THANKFULLY. 

It’s a clock that ticks in my head, only to make me realise I am running out of time, I have to do everything I want to do, before I get old enough to realise my body is giving up on me and my dreams remain dreams. 

My writing saved me when I was drowning, like Julia Child saved Julie Powell. It slowly  hit me that I will eventually have to make time for those dinner dates with friends, make flying visits to see my grandparents and family. Take a break, but watch at least one movie in two weeks. BREATH, because sometimes I’m only left gasping for air and tying to calm down meeting all my deadlines.  In the due course of doing all the ‘Adult Life', I realised that life is going to be exactly this. By this time next year, at the age of 23, I hopefully would be a writer with more than just one story published, a Literature graduate with certified education qualifications as a Travel Journalist from Stanford University and also a photographer, who stuck to a full time job of photography with a whole of two years of experience. 

No this project is never ending. Does it scare me? Of course it does. I’m only half my list down, I still have the other half to go. I also need to find someone in my tiny world, who understand the significance of  ‘You are the bread to my butter, and the breath to my life.’  

I need to have my own Boeuf Bourguignon.