When I was five, I have always known that one day, when I grow up, I’d be someone else; an adult whom I have not the smallest inkling what she would be doing twenty five years in the future but always, always, I imagined that adult to have her whole life figured out. At twenty-one, I am only now realizing that I couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
At one and twenty, I am already a registered Nurse, albeit someone who have just a mere five months of service but I consider it a success nonetheless. I am happy with the state of my life, although a little discontented sometimes, but we can’t all be contented and happy at the same time, right?
At one and twenty I realized I am actually just flailing my feet underwater, content on waddling on my behind and not daring to look past the dream of flying. After all, flying is just a dream that I could never really achieve. I am happy with the way things are, even as I am aware of how things are going and how much I’m missing out.
But fuck, who am I kidding? I’m not always happy and neither am I often contented.
I have always dreamt of the strange lands and the stranger people out there, always wishing I could venture out and spread out my wings. Inside, I have always felt like a vicious tide rocking against a cliff. I wanted the whole world for myself and I have not the least bit of knowledge how to conquer it.
At one and twenty, I figured out I don’t have a single idea how I want my future to fan out.
I want to be happy, yes.
I want to be content.
I want to be with my family.
I want to fall in love.
At one and twenty I am finally leaving my home. The first time I wander out alone and I’ll be taking miles away in stride. I guess my parents not wanting me to go out as often as I would have liked or them not allowing me to sleep over with a friend when I was younger were all in moot point, seeing as I’m reclaiming my freedom oceans away from them.
And even in my sentimentality about going away, I recognize the fact that my city can no longer contain me. I have bigger dreams and in order to achieve them, I have to figure out who I am, what do I really want, how do I live with myself and love me for me, before I go on branching out, touching other people’s lives. I have to carve out my own path and not just rely on the road sloppily planted before me by well-meaning parents and other adults who told me to be someone else at such a young age that I don’t even know who I am right now.
In order to achieve my young mind’s dream for myself, I have to lose myself out there and hope fervently to God that I’d find me somewhere. I have to be brave and courageous even when all I’m feeling is cowardly and scared because when the fog of fear and anxiety clears up, I know I took the right way. I have to.
After all, the future is a long time to be spending in regret about paths not taken.