It was 1:51 A.M on a Saturday night.
I was drunk.
I just attended two consecutive birthday parties, and in both of them, I drank an entire bottle of red wine. By the time the day ended, I was tipsy, red, and sleepy.
I didn't have a car or bike, so I hitched a ride from a friend. He had a red pickup truck. The seats at the front were full of bags, and there were other two people with me who took the chance to ride with him as well. So, I decided I stay at the back of the truck.
It was only me and the city's night lights. I felt the wind caress my cheeks as the truck went by so fast in these empty streets. My legs were stretched out, and my hand was holding firmly to the side of the car. The coldness of this midnight breeze kissed my skin. All I hear is the sound of the wheels breaking and sliding across the rough roads, the occasional horns, and the whisper of the night's infinite thoughts.
I got my phone, played Frank Ocean's "Blonde" and Daniel Caesar's "Pilgrim Paradise," and looked up. It was a full moon. No stars. No clouds. Despite the loud music in my earphones, it seemed quiet. This is a midnight rush.
As Daniel Caesar's "Streetcar" began to play, there was a sense of escape I felt. The winds, the coldness, the music - I wish I could perpetuate this. I took my phone to capture the moment and began to embrace this weekend evening.
This felt nice, I thought.
I've been too preoccupied spending my days at work, my evenings in training, and my weekends in presentations. When I get free time, I write my blogs (some of them have been drafts for quite a long time) or play video games till 2 A.M.
It's been a while since I had this moment. This felt nice.
I used to do this back in college or even in my early years as a professional. The time around midnight has always been my friend - whether I was on the streets, on a solo seat of a coffee shop, or in my room staring at the ceiling. I've always been at peace at these hours, and my emotions are at their highest as thoughts quickly come to me.
This is pure solitude.
The roads seem to remind me of myself. I'm now in my mid-20s, and it's funny how time went by so fast and how many decisions led me here. After all, what I am today is a product of my decisions yesterday; and what I will become is a product of my decision today.
I used to believe I had everything in control. I thought I was intelligent, creative, and I had the sense of confidence that could make me do whatever I wanted. I was good and interested in a lot of things, but it turned out to be a source of my pitfall as well.
I had to choose what I had to become.
There were so many things I wanted to do, places I wanted to visit, people I wanted to meet, insights I wanted to learn, and stories I wanted to write. But there's only so much time, and most of it is spent for me to survive.
I had to choose what I had to become and do.
Sacrifices. These were necessary to make decisions.
Little by little, I bid goodbye to parts of me I will never become, places I will never get to visit, stories I will never get to write.
I am at my crossroads, and I'm not even sure what path I'm taking.
It used to be easier, but now, everything is quite complex. Dreams were beautiful when they were just dreams. By the time we reach a point where we really have to achieve them, it gets blurrier. My dreams have both diverged and converged, and it has demanded I become so many persons at once.
This threshold to adulthood is a puzzle. You learn more and more about yourself, and the world gets bigger and smaller at the same time - if you know what I mean. There are newer emotions, deeper relationships, consequences of childhood experiences - all in the crossroads of the mid-20s, the epitome of a young adult.
But it is exciting, don't get me wrong. Especially in evenings like this where you get to reflect it all.
There's a sense of preciousness linked in the loss of one's identity, and in the pursuit of becoming someone new - at the cost of your former dreams. I am in awe at how much I have flown from my 4th Grade self and how much I found myself back at that young kid once again. It's a confusing process of detachment and discovery. Some roads split into two, intertwine, and end up on the same highway.
Loss makes life precious, I guess?
Seems like street lights, glowing, happen to be just like moments passing in front of me.
It's now 2:10 A.M.
I'm quite sober, but I am now drunk in thoughts.
The seconds passed by like minutes, and I felt both blissful and woeful at the same time. This evening was philosophical, by the least, and I was drowned in this contemplation of what has been and what it will be. The winds, the coldness, and the music - it has been perpetuated.
When I arrived at my destination, I took a quick glance at the red pickup truck. That was an evening of pause and surely a necessary one in these quickly-paced weeks I will be spending. Goals to hit. Problems to reconcile. Skills to acquire. There will be no room for these midnight thoughts I believe, and I am happy to have spent time at the back of that pickup truck.
I walked towards home, with no clear insight as to how I should venture in the years to come - or days, even. All I know is that I'm conflicted because I'm bound to make a decision that has been boggling me for quite some time. Which part of me will I choose to grow, and which parts will I bid goodbye to?
When I arrived, our dog was there waiting for me. He twirled, leaped at me, and ran with his tails wiggling. It wasn't the first time he did this.
Well, at least in this crossroads of confusion, one thing is for sure: a kind creature is excited to see me.
