One day, I was sitting outside on a park bench, engrossed in a light read while enjoying the autumn breeze. The leaves began turning colours, exhibiting the colour of flames before their inevitable perish and fall on the arrival of winter. As I turn the pages, footsteps walk up and a sudden plop sends a shock through the worn out wood bench. I look up and see a 14 year old kid.
He introduces himself: “Hi. I’m Eric.”
…
The conversation ends. I lean back on the park bench and watch onwards as my 14 year old self turns around and slowly shuffles away, his loose free summer camp t-shirt and off-fitted dark navy jeans waving goodbye as his soft undefined frame recedes in distance. I wonder what that kid thinks of me- the person he is to become in a short decade. In no way does that child ever predict the rollar coaster ride he is to experience in the forthcoming decade: the disappointment of university admission rejections, the onslaught pressure of midterm seasons, the ecstasy of clubbing, the shine of the Big Apple… But without forth knowing any of those formative or small experiences, is that child proud of the young adult he is to become?
Beneath his awkwardness and insecurities, that little kid’s dreams are pure. There’s this bright shine in his eyes as he enounces the syllables of his dreams. Without knowing the vastness and beauty of the world, he already proclaims he wants to change it- to contribute to the uninterrupted stream of the human procession, a parade of souls who, under their ingenuity, talents, and determination, have come before him to seed the fundamental understanding of what is known as modern experience. Spunky youth shielding the fear of death, the want of self preservation, and the greed of fortune, his dreams are self less, whatever degree that can be as an adolescent. Shielded from the greater wonders and uncertainties of anything other than the confines of his suburb, he simply baffles me. How can such unrealistic and idealistic thoughts emerge from someone so unknowledgeable? He knows he doesn’t want the simple life of the suburbs, but does he know what other lives are out there? Despite being from the future, I am still unsure how these aspirations emerged to push him towards unrealism and idealism- to see a vision for his life and internalize that so dearly such that he is willing to question the status quo of a simple average life in the suburbs.
That brings me to think. After the conversation we had, does he see my current thoughts and dreams worthy of the original ones he is so in love with? And when I reply to his questions about the future, does he see the glint in my eyes- the same ones smiling back to him as he hurriedly scrubs his face before bed- or does he see nothing but faux earnesty expressed in superficial lip service which espouses a dream that only now exists as a wax figure in a memory museum? Do I even believe myself when I spoke to him? Sometimes when I gaze at myself in the mirror, my reflection’s eyes come back dull and colorless, shadowed by eyebags accumulated under the heaviness of traditional adulthood and the greed of digits that man deems valuable. I see myself easily getting bogged down by the day to days- the idealistic and the delightful intrinsic dream become obscured by the perceived meaningless and repetitive excursions to uphold external societal validation and understanding of what a young adult is. I indeed find it difficult to hold my head high and frame my routines as an unsung and unrealized benefit for what ultimately set my 14 year old on the path of ambition chasing.
How am I different now from who I was as that 14 year old? Surely I am more wise and knowing now, having learned the depths of emotion from heartbreak and achievement and having discovered the greater world through internships and travels. But what my younger self lacks in these experiences, he compensates with foolishness and hunger. While I reach times of satiation and tiredness in my increasingly comfortable life, he continually inches towards his dreams, never taking time to revel in achievement. After all, how can he if he has been so starved in mediocrity for so long? Hunger has not been his only driver either. With the inability to work smart, he toiled in inferiority from who he competed with- idolized anonymous strangers his age who he presumes are more far talented and put together than he will ever be. And in this decade chase after these people, he eventually becomes me. I wonder if he will be disappointed in the result.
I cannot deny that part of me still lives in that little boy’s shadow- the dreams he aspired for cascaded a string of dominos to fall in such an unpredictable way for me to enjoy my life now. Ironically it is the muted revelling of achievement in minuscule progress towards these dreams which clouds its severity and grandness in the bigger picture of life. This is a frightening thought especially after the incredible luck bestowed upon that young boy for catching the scent of ambition while on a path of destined mediocrity and the subsequent behaviour changes he adopted in the attempt to be someone he respected. In this regard, there is a simple promise I must make to him.
I cannot let him down~