:: off the road always travelled ::
6:47 AM
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| I was in the passenger seat of my dad's car, drained from a full day. I opened my eyes when bright streaks of light from the sunset fell through the window onto my face, and I looked ahead of me completely unsure of where exactly I was apart from the fact that I knew I was on the way back from KL city. It was the sky, the faded light, and the unfamiliarity that drew me in - I couldn't seem to bring myself to close my eyes until I hit the usual highway home. I didn't want to miss a single second of anything that I had never seen. |
When I was younger, I never thought about time. Everything used to feel so permanent - as if it would never go away. I never worried about how much time I had left with the people and places around me. I suppose that's why it seemed to go by so slowly back then.
I've realised that the biggest part about growing up is putting time limits on things and learning how to face them. Time becomes something that you're all too conscious about, a factor so ingrained into the very essence of our thoughts and actions that we can't seem to forget it. It's our increasing awareness of time limits that make it seem like the years are passing by faster and faster as time goes by. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. Maybe time limits are what's needed to truly appreciate things the way they deserve to be appreciated. Maybe time limits are what give us the chance to make the most out of what we have.
Growing up makes you look at time in a whole new light, and I guess it makes you look at endings differently too.
I remember ending primary school with excitement because it didn't really feel like an end to anything at all. I remember ending high school on a bittersweet note - the nostalgia of some of the best years of my life still drifting through my mind till this day - because an ending was exactly what it felt like.
The end of college though feels a little different. I've turned the page on another chapter of my life now, and it feels a little scary this time around. This ending doesn't greet a kid or school girl anymore, this ending greets a young woman. An almost-adult. It marks the start of a buffer zone before I spend a significant amount of time halfway around the globe away from everything that I have comfort in.
The most important part about this ending though is that it forces me to come to terms with a version of myself that I'm still getting used to. It's only been a year and a half, yet in this year and a half, I feel like I've grown into a person that I never thought I needed to grow into. What I wanted for myself when I started, is not what I want for myself now. What I felt about the person I was then, is not what I feel about the person I am now.
I find comfort in reminding myself that sometimes it takes some time being lost to realize what you actually need to find. I find comfort in telling myself that feeling so strongly about things, whether those feelings have a positive or negative impact on myself, mean that I've experienced things that are worth remembering.
Things seem far too real now. I'm reaching the end of a road that I've always traveled on, and I'm starting to see the outlines of much longer routes ahead, routes that I've never set foot on. I don't know where the next stop is, I don't know where the next sign in - I'll only know when I get there. It's hard not to doubt if you're ever going to be ready for it, it's hard not to doubt that things will go as smooth as you want it to be or how you've always imagined it to be.
But then again, what is growth without doubt? How is it possible to ever come to terms with a new me without going through a big change?
A road I've never seen feels like exactly what I need.
The most important part about this ending though is that it forces me to come to terms with a version of myself that I'm still getting used to. It's only been a year and a half, yet in this year and a half, I feel like I've grown into a person that I never thought I needed to grow into. What I wanted for myself when I started, is not what I want for myself now. What I felt about the person I was then, is not what I feel about the person I am now.
I find comfort in reminding myself that sometimes it takes some time being lost to realize what you actually need to find. I find comfort in telling myself that feeling so strongly about things, whether those feelings have a positive or negative impact on myself, mean that I've experienced things that are worth remembering.
Things seem far too real now. I'm reaching the end of a road that I've always traveled on, and I'm starting to see the outlines of much longer routes ahead, routes that I've never set foot on. I don't know where the next stop is, I don't know where the next sign in - I'll only know when I get there. It's hard not to doubt if you're ever going to be ready for it, it's hard not to doubt that things will go as smooth as you want it to be or how you've always imagined it to be.
But then again, what is growth without doubt? How is it possible to ever come to terms with a new me without going through a big change?
A road I've never seen feels like exactly what I need.
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