Perfect Days
Three years ago, I set sail on a journey that changed the person I thought I was. Little did I know, it was not just for the good. The journey to the destination has been rougher than any storm I could have imagined. Forget the final harbor; I feel like I'm still just a castaway clinging to a raft, waiting for a rescue that may never come. Looking back, this 3-year journey has helped me build a character that I think I lacked for 23 years of my life. But at what cost?
Self-doubt? The journey, along with the crew I sailed with, made sure I felt seasick all along, telling me at every port call that I wasn't made for the waves. Maybe they were right. Maybe I really wasn't built to sail. But shouldn't a person be allowed to dream of the sea and work to become a sailor? That fear of missing out made me learn everything that the crew had criticized me about. I prepared myself for everything. I learned to swim for emergencies, yoga to quiet the nausea, rowing for the lifeboats, the basics of navigation, and a gazillion other skills while already onboard. I am almost there now. The crew members were hastily relieved that I was off the ship and no longer their headache. I only have one more short ship ride to my destination. But their voices still echo in the silence. But now my self-doubt kicks in. I am not confident about the 2nd leg of the journey. Now, in the quiet before the final voyage, the skills I frantically gathered feel like a handful of seashells—pretty to look at, but useless in a storm. My knowledge isn't a deep ocean but a collection of shallow tide pools, skimmed through merely to prove a point to a crew that has long since disembarked. I am a jack of all trades, who can even become a master chef in making a French toast (and French toast only) overnight, but a master of none.
When I took out a new logbook to craft this piece, I stared at the first page. Three years ago, the line below my name had subtitles: "Senior Cyber Security Analyst," "Entrepreneur," "Freelancer." Today, the line remained blank. What am I now? A student? A graduate? A nobody?
Unfortunately, if I don't reach my port in time, this life resets. I lose all the friendships, the relationships, my cute little monsterra, that random guy I fist bump in the gym every day, my bicycle, that bench in my backyard that I spend my me time during the nights, those relaxing grocery trips, those magical golden hours from my studio's window. I lose everything and start from scratch. Unfortunately, these new little things have become my reality, and I am not able to think of starting everything all over. But unfortunately, life doesn't care about what you think, does it? Even though I am trying and will try doing everything I can until the very end, I have also slowly started to find peace with the alternate climax. I am learning to be less harsh on myself, to cherish the memories of lone dates and the warmth of my dear ones. Memories, I think I'll take back home (if I have to).
The other day, I was driving with a friend I made on this voyage. We have been through a lot together during this journey. Recently, he found his dearest one. Since I knew him even before he met her, I know how it all started and how cute a couple they are now. He was sharing with me how he is uncertain about their future together, while we were driving somewhere. Without thinking, the words left my mouth: " I wish I could be here to see things work out for you both". The weight of that sentence hung in the air between us, a truth I hadn't meant to speak aloud.
Dear friend, cute monsterra, random guy from the gym, bicycle, grocery store at Woenselse Markt, studio windows, those friends who used to be, that special someone, Nagaraj the house cat, shopkeeper uncle, and everyone else who built this world with me:
"In case I don't see you again, good morning, good afternoon, good evening & good night!"
P.S. While about all this, I seriously hope in synchronicity. Whether this is the end of a wholesome chapter or the beginning of another beautiful one, only time will tell.
*** This might be a work of fiction ***
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