Chapter 17
Everything hurts. My mind, my body, my heart, and my soul.
It’s been two months since I finished my pre-assessment training (advanced training) after my year of basic training.
In the pre-assessment training (that takes place before we get assigned to any missions), we were given more in-depth lessons to gain knowledge and skills in resource and data operations, robotics, navigation, maintenance, spacewalks, medical aspects and payloads.
We also got a chance to travel to many partner sites such as AASA (American Aeronautics and Space Administration), SAJ (Space Association of Japan) and RSA (Russian Space Agency).
It was a fulfilling time of learning and experiencing things first-hand, and operating machinery more than in our basic training.
But at the same time, it was an emotional and physical whiplash of travelling to places constantly, doing my best at every single task and needing to have the energy to network at all places.
I recognise how lucky I am to get a chance to be here, experiencing all this.
But I’ve also been putting tenfold the effort that ensures that my trainers have a good impression of me and my skills.
That is why it hurts more. After my pre-assessment training, we were given opportunities to apply internally to all the space missions that our agency and partner agencies were doing.
I applied to most of them, but week by week, I got rejection emails from each of them until the number of applications that I am yet to hear back from dwindled.
I try to stay strong, but the voice in my head doesn’t stop screaming at me that I’ve made a mistake and that this is all worth nothing, that I am not good enough.
I am happy. I genuinely am, for each of my batchmates who comes to me with the happy news that they’ve been assigned to a mission.
But I cannot stop interpreting it as my lack.
As much as it stings hearing everyone move forward, the one person’s news that I was nothing but happy about was Zara’s.
She is assigned to a mission with AASA to explore Mars for habitability, and she deserves it for all the hard work that she put into her training.
I spend most of my days refreshing my memory of all my study materials and helping senior astronauts with the operations for their missions.
I can’t help but feel pressure in my chest from having something be so close to my reach but not be able to grab on to it.
Darshan and my parents take turns checking on me every two weeks, but I hold back from telling them how I feel like an imposter and that I want to come back.
Today, I was going through the things on my table to find the guitar pick that I always keep on the trinket tray.
It is the most unappealing-looking green-coloured pick, but I always keep it in my pocket or hold it in my hand when I’m having a bad day.
Today, it was missing. I always have all my things properly arranged on the desk, but it was misplaced; the stress must have gotten to me.
I grew increasingly anxious and afraid that I had lost it.
I threw all the things from my desk on the floor and emptied the drawers, but I still couldn’t find it.
I made a mess of my room and sat on the floor, zoning out, numb after losing all hope.
But there it was, in the corner of my room, right in front of my eyeline.
I grabbed it, and everything felt hopeful again.
I want to believe that everything will come back again.
Apollo’s favourite pick did. It went missing when everything was chaotic and came back to me once the storm passed.
So, my dream will come back to me too, won't it?