For my whole life, I have been spending my days chasing for prosperity. I have always been long to be someone — remembered, remarkable. And for that I be staunch in reaching the line adamantly, that I get into the conclusion; I will never feel enough until I arrived there.
But as if she descended to set forth peace in the middle of the battlefield between me and my own expectations, she proved me wrong. I caught myself feeling enough when I am not even close to be the man I long to be.
Like a rock that softens as the water falls on it drip by drip, she slackens my rigid aim. Gives me reassurance that it is okay to be ordinary, it is okay to be in the middle of the road and not always be the first in every race. So I grasp the thought tightly in my mind; it is okay to be anything as long as I’m with her.
And my goal has changed from being someone to someone she loves. My achievement changed from being the best employee in the office, to finishing the day well and coming home to her arms. I no longer capture the future by the picture of me standing on the podium, holding the microphone and giving my best speech. The future is where I’m in the kitchen, chopping the carrots while she cooking her best dinner for two. Or in the bedroom with a hairdryer in my hand, trying my best to dry her hair while she’s doing her pretty nails.
I would love to do taxes and laundry or come home early to wash the dishes. I would love to wait for some minutes outside of her workplace and watch her flat shoes tapping noisily as she walks closer. Maybe we would drive the Lexus we have been talking about for a while, maybe we won’t. And I don’t mind with both ways. I would love to spend my afternoon watching the sunset through the MRT window, with her beside me, bathing in the orange sunlight. Or walking on a pedestrians street while holding hands, her talking about how was at work today and the girl that one of her brothers had been dating for a while, while I’m listening to her, maintaining my smile for the rest of the day.
As much as I would strive for my life, it feels like I don’t need to run for the end of the world. I would just sit with her on the living room chair, listening to Sakura and letting the tide takes the whole city. To die with her and exist in another life — maybe this time with our own tea shop or flower garden, instead of taxes and laundry. Anything, anything would be fine. Because she is my finish line. My raison d’être.
(For the woman I would like to do laundry and taxes with, the Mars of my own)
