Who do your dreams belong to?

Counterpoints in a mirror
aspirations…

All her life she had been the straight-A kind of student. A role model in every sense of the word. Responsible, mature, hard-working, good natured, nice to everyone. It was impossible not to like her.

He was a sophomore in college when he decided to leave everything behind, follow his dreams and live in a foreign land. He had never been abroad before. He didn’t know how he would support himself and had no friends there.

She had all the right dreams, that is, the ones a sensible person like her should have: successful career, financial stability, wonderful husband and kids, of course. She was driven and focused on everything she set her mind to do.

Truth is, he didn’t really know anything when he decided to start his life over. He had no certainties and didn’t seem to need them. The excitement of the unknown, the unpredictable. That was his drive.

She graduated at 22 and immediately landed a promising job at Corporate Universe.
At 26 she would be promoted to manager of the division.
At 28 she would meet her future husband and by 30 she would be Mr. Right’s respected wife.
At 32 she would become a mother of twins, after a highly time-efficient 2 in 1 pregnancy.
She would be one of those power women, who manage to keep a successful career and a joyful healthy family. She would have it all and do it all,with an invincible broad shiny smile on her face.

A year has passed.
He had no clue what he wanted to do with his life when he left his country. And he still doesn’t.
But he takes a little advantage of the supply and demand system he’s in and now works as a freelance English teacher in a city where tons of people are eager to learn the language of the global market.

She believed in planning things, in long-term goals and in playing safe. The data of her purposeful existence could be inputted on an excel spreadsheet. The forecast analysis of her inescapable success was consistently based on the variables of pro-activity, ambition and rationality. Her very soul could be quantified in comprehensive cost/benefit charts.

He can’t get a regular 9 to 5 job and has no bank account because he lives as an illegal immigrant. He spends all his days in crowded buses and subways, going from one part of the city to the other. He lives in a small rented room at a pension located in a shady neighborhood. He has bags under his eyes and feels exhausted all the time. Yes, he feels drained. Battered. Lifeless.

Failure was not an option.
Giving up was not an option.
Improvisation, Spontaneity, Frivolousness,
Foolishness, Pointless Pursuits, Utopian Ideals, Waste of Time.
Not an option, Not an option, Not an option!

The weight of his own choices is a heavy one to carry.
His parents are probably right.
He should get a real life, build a career,
fulfill the sensible expectations one is supposed to have in life.

Oh the burden of having only one option, the right one,
the burden of always walking the straight line,
she’d never tell the world how lonely it felt.

He wonders if the path he’s taken is worthwhile.

And so does she…

It’s tough out there…
And life has its way of taking hold of you …
Before you realize you’re too numb to aspire to anything that matters.
And all you do is hope
in silent desolation
to make it to the next day …