I've missed you.
While I was busy growing up; through all the moments that lead to the realization that however many people I have smiling at me, supporting me, laughing at my jokes, or patting me on the back, the most important person in my life is you, I pushed you to the back of my mind.
You became a distant memory - echoes of a dream a young girl once had. And I did nothing about that, because I was too busy listening to all the people who want what's best for me.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I suppressed all that I was supposed to be, in order to become a muddled mess of other people's dreams. I am now fragments of other people's ideals: I am kind, I am analytical, I am well-enough read - not too much, so as not to interfere with my capacity to be somewhat sociable; but not extremely sociable, because too much confidence would have made me prone to disobedience. But I'm not too obedient either, am I? I was never meant to be obedient. And this is where Nature fights nurture to create this monster inside me: hungry for the road, hungry for adventure. But so little experience of those things, for my age...
You came back with a vengeance.
You are now claiming what is yours: this body, this mind and soul (for whatever that may be), and you will not give in, no matter how hard I try to explain to you that rebelling against all that you were smothered with, all these years, will not work. And it's not your fault, it's mine. For not letting you fight for what you wanted from the get go. Now we have nothing to base your future on.
Yes, you're right. We could've had that Harley, by now, instead of a white Peugeot and a bike that's old and purple and I can't even ride. But I haven't worked towards a Harley until now. I have worked towards two degrees that we didn't even want in the first place.
Yes! I know you would have gotten a job at 16 and we could have had it all by now. I was wrong. I'm sorry. How many times do I have to apologise?
Until you're free?
oh my...
But I... I don't know how to be you. I'm still so weak...
What if I never gain the strength to follow my instinct at every crossroad?
What if I never gain the drive to work towards a goal for more than a week? Yes I know those weren't my goals, but still. What if it doesn't matter whose goals they are?
And what would we do? We can't sing, so a career in the rockstar awesomeness field is pretty much out of the question. Anything involving any degree of hand-eye coordination, like painting, is out of the picture; You know it's true - we can't even draw a good enough tattoo design.
Writing?
Are you actually reading this? This is precisely the reason why writing wouldn't work.
I don't know. I'll get back to you...
In the meantime, try to come to terms with the fact that you may have to go back into your little dark room. I hope we'll find another way, but this may be our only way forward from this place I've allowed our life to take us. I'm sorry.
Take care.
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