The Future is nigh

Anthony's blog is one I read regularly, partly because I know him, partly because his writing has a certain clarity and eloquence which I appreciate. He quite outdid himself with this post though, because he put into words something I couldn't for the longest time.

I understand the guilt. The talk I had with my father was studiedly casual and involved absolutely no eye contact whatsoever. Or so he supposed. In reality I was watching him, and while doing so, suffered the sudden wrenching realization that my beloved father, who had always appeared invincible and eternal, was getting old. And the guilt came because I realize just how much he was giving up, without a murmur of complaint, just so I could do what I loved. It's humbling, when you realize how much your parents love you. We're not a demonstrative bunch, my family. That's why after that I had to hide in my room to let emotion overwhelm me in private.

I couldn't say yes at first. I took two weeks. To let the guilt and fear battle it out against the desire. To let myself get used to the idea of potential loss. Anthony's reasons for going are the same reasons which demand that I stay. This took place in the House of Ang , so I was free to smoke, stare blankly into space, weep and swear at will. The Boy, asleep at 4 or 5 in the morning, never knew how afraid I was.

My reasons for leaving are different. Mine are fuelled by a persistent desire, a calling, if you will allow me such dramatic liberties, which, despite all attempts to smother the same for the past seven years with an excellent education in a professional degree and three years of excruciating back breaking work, still sang a siren song that proved too much. So I understand the hope too.

I don't know what will happen to me either. In a year. Or two. Or five. I don't know if the price is worth it. I just know I have to do it. We only have one life.

I just wish, all the time, that it was easier.