To leap, or to handcuff myself to this city? That has been my question for a couple of months now. Ever since I quit my job to follow my dreams – somethings came up and I convinced myself that I needed to take care of them before I moved on.
I’ve always loved the idea of Canada and I thought maybe that’s where I would go first. Followed by Africa, Europe, Japan and maybe my beloved America (everyone knows of my love-hate relationship with that country)
The longer I’ve had to wait, however, the more the voices of those convinced I’m making a mistake haunts me. At 23, I am to work at my career, date with the purpose of finding someone to spend the rest of my life with, dream of making big money and running a happy family so that by the time I drive through to the other side of the twenties, I’d be more stable.
The truth is that I want none of that. I didn’t need alcohol to reach that conclusion, just the time I’ve had to myself, staying home, taking care of my grandma. I want adventure, I want to travel, see the world, crack a joke or two even if at my expense just to bring a li’l cheer and delight into someone else’s life. Show them that its okay to play in the rain and feel the sand between their toes. That it really isn’t that scary or forbidden. Isn’t that what life is all about?
And then I start to panic because what if life is not what I imagine it could be. What the people are whispering constantly in my ears about love and life is all there is? I know I have the right to make my own mistakes – I’d like nothing better. I guess I just need someone to tell me that it’s okay to jump off the edge without knowing if I’d land in a splat or fly.
My parents, friends and peers all think I’m wasting my time at home instead of taking up one of the many job offers I’ve received in the past new months. I don’t know how to explain that I need to find a new place where I can start from scratch. A place where the people at the bar recognize you and when they serve you peanut masala they always know to serve it with the lime wedges cause you like it that way. A place where I can take out my guitar and strum while listening to melancholy songs because music is the only strength you have left. A place where I can finally let myself connect with a complete stranger without my emergency systems shutting me down. I need to believe that I am strong enough and will, sometime in the future be able to do all this. My faith that it all eventually works out, however irrational it is, has to pay off, right? Right?
I finally called the African embassy today. By October, I’ll be gone.