It was a fine afternoon when my lovely French tutor treated me for lunch. I was dreading to hear about her updates on her application for this one postgraduate program.
Failure is a familiar figure looming on every nook and cranny of my house. I was bound to experience it before I knew the dull ache that stabbed right through my lungs even after a year of experiencing it. However, my teacher is meant for greatness. With patience and love she has for us and her pursuit of dreams, it did not come as a surprise when she told me that she is genuinely passionate about education.
I was slurping the noodles I ordered when she told me, "This is the first time I know how it feels to both want something and not get it."
My heart sank.
How do you tell someone that they have done their best and you are proud of them nonetheless when all you have ever faced is the haunting reality of being rejected more than once and you have been attempting to tell yourself the exact same thing? I was not frustrated because words had failed me, I was ashamed because I had failed them.
I could not remember what I said back then to her, but I knew what I hoped for: she does not have to go through the same thing twice.
My mind is of a state that practices common law system, and failure is a verdict. A cruel precedent used by my trail of thoughts to convince myself that this would happen again the next time I take my chance. One single occurrence is sufficient to determine the destination of every path I take. A cliff.
I do not wish that upon her.
Lee Juyeon from The Boyz gave me the insight of an alternative to look at life. Juyeon lives as if today were his first day and I live mine as if it were my last in the sense that he approaches everything with the same wide-eyed curiosity and tenderness, a new day means another adventure for him. On the other hand, I live like I have gathered all resources and materials to build a flawless and complex measurement for rocket science. If I didn't get to finish the project on that very day, I might as well be destroying my legacy.
Juyeon also lives his life as if today were his last and I live mine as if it were my first in the sense that he has too many memories to reminisce. The past is a gigantic album spread on his front porch house he built from dreams. Meanwhile, my life is waves crashing the shoreline: relentless, foaming with distraught of what the future might hold. I still do not know what matters, so I keep on swimming, diving, searching.
Perhaps it was his interpretation of Edward Hopper's painting. Or his consistency in reminiscing about his childhood memories, insistent with his words in every single one of his interviews: the past means a lot to him because his mind is an ancient family album that he flips every single day without leaving a scratch. He approaches life as if it were another shot to be taken then added to his collection of mementos.
He makes me think of the trees. The sea. The friends I surround myself with. My self-worth as well as the speck of dust that is my existence.
He pauses to think before he replies, weighing down his words and reactions.
I do not have sufficient patience. I would always want to respond quickly. My mouth opens before my acquaintance could even consider the possibility of me not paying attention to what they say. It is reckless, I have come to realize. So I learned to apologize afterwards if there is something hurtful in what I have said, not knowing whether or not they actually take offense.
For someone who makes it her mission to listen, I surely have not listened close enough.
I have evidently not listened well to the chirping birds. The sounds they make are usually interpreted as mere noises in my ears rather than an obvious sign of existence. I have eagerly listened to my friends' stories, but not properly, for it is quite hard to fathom what they really need.
I wanted to take my time in doing things and Lee Juyeon showed me the possibility to. Rather than a love letter to him, this is more of a written documentation I make to immortalize my growth and development helped by one or two particular things, or in my case, people.
I no longer wait for my train to come with disdain. My patience is stored in the quiet observation I make toward a mass of groups running to the platform or the rushing cars after traffic lights, comparing them to the slower pace of my city.
I wanted to live like this. A life where I am fully aware of my insignificance, yet I still find everything else is beautiful. A life where I learn the beauty of not consistently seeking approval, for new records to break, for an acknowledgement for my existence.
“One morning / the fox came down the hill, glittering and confident, / and didn't see me—and I thought: / so this is the world. / I'm not in it. / It is beautiful.”
— From "October" by Mary Oliver
I still find it hard to speak in front of people who demand the speaker to ooze authority. I spent a year having a role in a leadership organization that shaped me to, I believe, a better version of myself. I spent a few months of my high school year debating and joining competitions. Despite all that, my hands still tremble.
I do not know how to persuade people. I cannot think properly under scrutinizing eyes.
My brain whirs in the moment of solace. I must ask for every opinion from everyone in the room to reach a conclusion. My lack of self-confidence hinders me from believing I could represent a particular group.
I am not the kind of person they are looking for. The world is looking for.
I constantly find myself stuck in between two territories. I desire material greatness, yet my nature prevents it. I long for a life where I could walk slowly, yet my insatiable greed screams in agony.
I did not wish for the waves of jealousy that hit me upon hearing my dear teacher's story, figuring out that not everyone always wants something. I did not wish for the shock that I felt upon realizing that failure could only be if I expected too much from the outcome.
The emerging desire is the beginning of disappointment. Thus, I shifted my priorities: my only desire at the moment is to want nothing at all.
"The dream of my life / Is to lie down by a slow river / And stare at the light in the trees / To learn something by being nothing / A little while but the rich / Lens of attention."
— From "Entering the Kingdom" by Mary Oliver
Now, I am silently watching the sun as it rises from between the hills. My friends and I are rubbing our arms, not used to the freezing weather on the mountain. I feel nothing but contentment.