As I lower myself into a nearly filled bathtub, one I had difficulty making, it suddenly hits me that life on the outside is too dissatisfying.
But the realization comes later, much later…
I wanted, more than anything, a glass of wine. I wanted a Hollywood moment, sipping red wine, drenched in soap and sadness like Bridget Jones. Oh, the possibilities.
There was no wine. In our house, wine is implied to be a forbidden drink. Maman is a liberal who gave up most of her faith, but never dared sip the forbidden, sinister wine. Baba, well, he is Baba, the man whose silence empowers the rest.
There were no bubbles in my poor excuse of a bath, but nevertheless, I got satisfaction, preparing for a few moments of peace and nothingness, wordless soundtracks, and harmless daydreams. I decided to float for a bit, think. But the thoughts became more depressing that I had intended for them to be. In my thoughts, I was a dissatisfied, indolent child, uncertain of all that I once believed to be certain. I used to believe I’d never be doubtful again.
Merde…
In thinking, I despised my very being for how useless, futile it had become, for its unwillingness to accept and settle. Accept the uncertainties that, for the moment, I have no control over. Accept the uncertainties that a 19 year-old child would go through. Accept that I am now faced with too many roads and would, by any means, question and doubt certain matters. Settle for a low-paid job to make it to the next big thing. But what do we get out of settling, of accepting when there is always more to devour, more to understand, more to become? What do we get by letting time go?
I am not willing to let time go. I am not willing to drench myself in a stupid, bubble-less bath, feel pity on my soul for being overtly pathetic. I am not willing to watch myself tear every single fingernail because life isn’t good enough.
Merde…
It’s a pity to have a pen in your hand, only to let it consume you, beguile you into some fantasy world of ideologies, coffee cups and provocative reads, sexy, but costly red shoes and fancy hairdos. It’s a pity to think you have reached too far for your age when your body and mind is slowly deteriorating from the unfairness of the world…
Get real you fool. Get real, stop wandering. Stop wondering of New York and its ambiguities. Get real, work with what you have, at this moment, and then find your way. The city is there, will always be there. You’re ready. All you have to do is figure things out. Figure out what you want. Figure out what you can offer, what can be offered to you. Talk. Stop thinking for a moment about all that you are ignorant of. You are young. You are working to get there. Just, wait.
A teacher once wrote to me: “Take a year to unwind, untangle, unearth. Then move to the world that waits for no one but needs someone like you. You have options. Take them.”
I am ready, more ready than I ever felt before. I just need someone to tell me everything will work out. I need some answers. And a little more time.
Shit…