I read an article about this Ivy League grad woman who quit her job as a journalist in New York to be an ice cream scooper at a small island in the Caribbean. Every time I stay up late, I keep wondering where she got the bravery to break the lease of her apartment, pack all her stuff, and buy a one-way ticket. I try to imagine the day when she fully decided to abandon the world she lived in for years and said, “Screw it. I’m leaving and I will never look back.” Her life story has impacted me in a way that makes me question myself if a day will come when I will be willing to give up my college degree, my professional license, and the technical skills I spent years building to be an ice cream scooper in a beautiful beach town somewhere. But then I think of my Australian client and remember how kind and smart and an overall great boss he is that I’m convinced I am in a good place in life currently. So I guess the ice cream scooping thing will only just stay in my fantasy.
A guy told me he liked me because he’s fascinated by people who love to write. Most of our conversations revolved around my pieces that he saw on the internet. He didn’t care that I’m eight years younger than him. He wasn’t concerned that we somehow lived in a different generation. He just wanted to know the background story of my writings. I felt weird having him around that I ended up telling him I would no longer see him. Sometimes he comes to my mind after midnight and I can’t help but think that maybe he only said he was into me because he was hoping I would, one day, write about him too. Well, now that I’m actually writing about him, I’d like to think that he’s smiling on his phone as he’s reading this.
The person living next door from my apartment occasionally borrows random things like a phone charger, lighter, and scissors. I wonder if he just wants to be friends with me but can’t directly say so. He seems nervous each time I talk to him. I want to make the first move and ask him if he wants to hang out sometime, but I don’t want to give him the impression that I’m more interested to him than he is to me. This thought of asking him out bothers me before I fall asleep. Because what if I’m the one who’s destroying the good story that comes along with two strangers meeting at a right time? But I don’t know. I’m already too tired to believe in such thing.
I spent the last decade of my life always looking into the future. For some stupid reason, I never ran out of something to hate in my situation. I kept waiting for better days. It’s only this year that I’ve learned to enjoy the present, to really live in the now. Some nights I look outside my window and feel bad about the days that I chose not to build strong connections with people who genuinely showed interest to be in my life. I didn’t allow anyone enter my world because I thought I was only meant to meet them temporarily. But I wish I did. They’re good people and they deserve a place in my heart. I regret that I’m only realizing it just now.
I dream to become a single gay dad someday. But I worry if I’ll have enough money to hire a surrogate mother or be qualified to adopt a baby. I’m not sure at which age I’ll be capable of raising a child, but I’m confident that I can be a good father in this lifetime. At 2 a.m., I am thinking of possible names I’ll give to my son. I picture how happy I will be, knowing I have a son to come home to by the end of the day. I’ll be different, feel different, act differently because being a parent is life-changing. I wonder about this almost every night. Because in as much as it’s freeing to live on my own, I think there’s nothing more fulfilling than seeing a little version of me grow. There’s nothing worth hearing in this world than a kid calling me dad.