Twenty Six

Well I dreamed of Superman. I don’t miss him or anything. I think it’s the anti-histamines. My life kind of depends on those pills for a month now. I missed chicken and seafood. But I don’t miss Superman. Sure of that. I think of him once in a while and I recall how I’ve been a miserable person because he won’t like me. Now that I think of it, I could burst into laughing, I mean, I was fifteen! Of course I’d be miserable. I’d question everything from creation to fall because he didn’t like me.

To be honest, I still wish he did. Not that I need it now but before, it meant like the universe to me. I don’t remember when I first liked him. My high school days played like short film flicks in sepia. I could see him raising the flag, I could see him walking one afternoon under the mercy of a dusty afternoon, and I could see him dancing during the prom night. I could see him. But I don’t see myself anywhere close. Now, I can laugh realizing that, yeah, I was always in a different frame. We always have separate lives. But I was fifteen and naïve and so I cried hard not being able to get over it. Went on for some time, actually, quite a long while. I don’t know what happened but eventually I stopped crying. Took me almost a decade—ha!—but I think, I finally grew up.

Turning twenty six, there’s someone I like. He doesn’t know (him knowing doesn't guarantee anything) but I am not miserable. I have my masters to finish, a thesis to follow, a big project next year to attend to, and my family will finally be moving into a new house that I’d probably pay for all my life. I am overjoyed that I had become a good daughter after all. That I was not the miserable person I once thought I was.

Someday if love will come, I hope it will be enough and that I don’t have to consume myself to fill up all the things missing.