How are you?

I don’t feel good at all. I’m broken. I seem to have forgotten how to win. How to get anything to just work. It’s been failure after failure. L’s stacking up pretty well. I’ve lived this way for the better part of the last two years.

I tried to show up every chance I got in those days because I thought I couldn’t be unlucky for 365 days, but it’s been over 730 days and I have been unlucky more times than the days. It’s getting harder to show up now, because as I try to put my foot forward I can, in very specific detail, tell the exact rejection this might end up becoming.

The rejections no longer hurt. I’ve become accustomed to being told "Sorry." That they won’t be moving forward with me. All I hear when reading those is “you’re not enough.” “You’re not worthy” and the countless other variations these thoughts spin in my head. Everyone tells me to keep showing up. Some say I’m not putting in enough effort. That it’s a numbers game and the more the higher my chances.

I wish I could tell them that these things they tell me break my heart more than the rejections ever could. I wish they asked how I was coping despite all this. I wish they just sat with me in silence long enough to see me break down in tears.

I’m broken. I’m shattered, but still I have learnt to have fun in parties regardless. I showed up to Tere’s party last weekend and had a blast. Everyone loved my energy. Flirted with two people enough to make out long enough for them to be willing to sleep with me without protection. I wish Tere didn’t have those packs of Durex lying around familiar places.

I’m shattered, but I remember to go to MK’s every Tuesday to enjoy a good bowl of loaded fries and watch people dine and enjoy the company of their loved ones, especially people who seem to be having their first dates. I imagine what they are talking about and try to predict if they go on to be in a relationship or how I imagine their lives together.

These are the moments that carry me. They remind me that life is still worth living regardless of who said no to me joining their team or said no to publishing my book.

I’m shattered, but I look forward to every United game. The thrill of not knowing what to expect. Would we play shit or actually show up? Some fans say they won’t watch our games till we are good again, but if I ever tried that, that would be me forgetting to live.

I’m shattered, but these and countless other small moments are what I live for. These moments are the reason I will open my laptop tomorrow and scroll LinkedIn looking for the next thing to apply to or the next publisher I can pitch my book to. It’s not the people that tell me to try harder, it’s the fact that if I will look forward to Zach’s outing next weekend and going to MK’s this Tuesday or Man United’s match on Sunday, I might as well just try again to fill the moments in between the things I live for.

So Bashir, you asked “How are you? (and don’t just tell me I’m ‘fine’).” This is my not-so-fine reply.

How are you, Bashir? And don’t just tell me “I’m fine.”