1¾ years is not a long time.
I’m not afraid to step into my future. I’m afraid of what I’ll let go when I do it.
What will change when I’m at a different place? Will I still want what I want now? Will I forget who I am? Or will I find myself there and there is nothing to be forgotten about here in the first place?
Will I still be sharing a few of my deepest thoughts to my circle of friends? Will I still want to try hold a reunion with them after a few months of not meeting? Will I feel waves of melancholy when I stumble upon our photos? Will I want to turn back time to my late-teen years and experience the same events once more? Or will I eventually let go of them in this span of 1¾ years, as they are already slipping out of my hands now like sand? Will I miss them in the future? Will I wish I hadn’t let them go and walked away on my own?
Will I still love the person I love now? Will I still want to get married to him when I’m there? Will I even want to get married? Will things change between us in this 1¾ years since we will be busy going our separate ways? Will we meet again at some point of our lives if we do separate? Will we soon let us go? Are we already doing that? When I’m there, will there be times when I’ll reminisce his face? Will there be times when I’ll miss him giving me valuable reminders? Will I laugh when I hear a joke he shared back then or start tearing up? Will there be places I’ll go to that will take me back here when I had moments with him? Where? Libraries, airports, train stations, classrooms, staircases? Or instead of feeling sad, will I remember all those memories happily because he will still be there with me in my future?
1¾ years is not long.
Because I know that there is a possibility of feelings changing, I want to feel everything I can. Because I know that there is a possibility of things changing, I want to do everything I can.
There will be days when I’ll feel exhausted, no doubt. Days when I wish I hadn’t chosen a future so difficult to achieve. A future that requires an uncountable amount of sacrifices. Days when I wish I should’ve lived a little longer at this time, 18 years old, September. Then again, I’m not even happy living in this very moment. So what is the point of wishing I could relive a time I wasn’t happy in? The future is all I can hope for.
Work harder, Amirah.
This is your pursuit of happiness.