A terrifying future

I imagine that some years from now, Sparrow will come to ask me out for a lunch, since we haven’t met in such a long time. Then, at the table, she’ll ask me how I am doing. I’ll say fine. And I’ll ask her how the kids are. She’ll go on for a bit as new mothers usually do. Then, we start talking about our jobs. Mine isn’t particularly interesting, so she talks more about hers; and by the time the food arrives, she hasn’t yet finished. “It’s been an incredible experience since the first day, really” she’ll say, and end it off with a gentle pursed smile.

After dinner, she drops me off at the bus stop closest to my house, telling me as I leave that she still has a ton of work left to finish. She sighs jocosely and waves, and I close the door of the car. Then, as I walking home, I begin to recall the past; how our lives were once so intertwined, and now, they have gone such separate ways. Never did I imagine that things would be as they now are. It’s all so different from the future I had imagined. But in truth, I think, I had never really imagined any sort of future. The future was always something terrifying, and so I never looked into it. I ruminate all the same, along the empty lanes, on which both sides are houses lit up by the life and laughter of families. What have I achieved?

On life and the future

Whenever a person expresses concern over the prospects of my decided area of studies, I cannot help from suspecting, and with great consternation, that this courage in pursuing a pleading passion might be simply a great folly of the mind. Have I let myself be ensnared by web of lies? To ourselves, we are after all the most masterful liars.

Suppose they were right, and I really am on a path to a life full of parsimony and less extravagant joys; suppose they were right about my having made the wrong decision, and at so crucial a juncture; suppose they were speaking of the objective truth, one not slurred by pride or passion but derived by the principles of practicality – what then?

I have let myself rest for too long in this rural hut. I have grown accustomed to its space, to its place, to the scenery that surrounds it, to the lake that reflects the sky in its shimmering eye, to the tracks that leads into calm forestry which I have imagined myself traversing in the many days ahead. There is no turning back now; I wouldn’t allow it. If to a life full of parsimony and less extravagant joys it leads, then so it shall be. But at least I would know that I’ve done what I most wished in life.