Never have I moved this much and never have I moved with so much energy. I am my brown leather shoes, worn out but broken in. My feet are sore but I tread for hours on the city streets and take to the direction of the wind, exhausted and yet animated. For with every step I unveil more of the distance and I see now that there is no horizon I can’t walk to. I feel like a conqueror. A foreign invader sailing towards shores that should have already been mine. I am no longer shackled by a condition rendered to me mightily. I am no longer shackled by anything. No force trammels me to a standstill. No longer suspended in mind, I am with my freedom. And I will assert myself against nature, swimming wave after wave across the unknown, to find myself a place I can call mine, a place I can call home.
I had never been a very confident person. I had bravado, I had a great sense of self, but both these things simply worked to fog my truest inhibitions. In the end, I figured only to appear unafraid to not appear afraid. I was vain. I was proud. That and I was afraid of many things. Afraid of riding against the current. Of drowning. Fear drove me to think and rethink over and over again if what I had wanted to do can be done. To sail, to spread my arms and to dash against the raging waters. To willfully rise or to willingly fall. All for the virtue of a thing called freedom, a right I’ve since then come to hold so dear.
So for many times, more times already than I can count with my hands, I had run after this freedom. I chased after it, relentlessly pursued it, and felt it as it deftly brushed my fingertips before slowly moving away to somewhere out of my reach. Each time, I told myself that there’ll come a time, when freedom wouldn’t be so difficult to catch. All I had to really do, in the meantime, was wait. There was a plan to follow and freedom wouldn’t lag so much behind. Truthfully, in retrospect, I can see why I stuck so long to that plan. There was convenience involved. Everything was so well organized, arranged and just anticipating for me. I only had to set my sails up and let the wind guide me to wherever it wished for me to go.
But what everyone who has ever advised me can’t seem to understand is the great discontentment in the process of all the waiting. The great vacancy I felt while in the motion of a plan of convenience. Have you ever woken up to a morning finding yourself feeling empty, lost, and pointless? I take a quick shower, dress in whatever clothes appear first in the closet, and yawn as I force breakfast and coffee down my throat. One morning I find myself in this exact same routine, only to stop myself in front of a mirror. With my hair tussled, my polo crumpled, my face desolate, I asked myself, “Is this it?”
It could not be this. It shouldn’t be. And today, it isn’t any longer. I jumped ship and it tires me so much even just to keep afloat. But how can I not be glad that now I can swim around freely? How can I not be glad that I am alive again – now with purpose that I can call my own? The thought of new depths wakes me easily, and I awake ready to walk, swim, crawl, and suffer for my life on my own terms. Today I walked from one city to another. Who knew it can be done? Tomorrow, I will assert myself against nature, swimming wave after wave across the unknown, to find myself a place I can call mine, a place I can call home.