Being Content was the joyful feeling of being satisfied.
I remember the distant sea greeting me with a warm smile. My thoughts ran across my mind as I observed the endless blue. Curiosity got ahead of me, and I found myself running towards the seashore. Worried about what mother would say if I wet my pajamas, I dipped my feet into the lukewarm water. Its marine blue softly touched the bottom of my cold feet. Walking on the beach is relaxing, they say, but not until you get caught by a child laughing at you.
“Mister, why are you wearing pajamas?”
I look down to see a tiny child tugging on my apple green pajamas. Giggling, her miniature hands let go as I laugh awkwardly in embarrassment. “Not sure,” I try to reason, looking for an explanation on why a teenager would run around at the beach in his pajamas. Then I notice her clothes, a lacy white dress beaming with glow. “Why are you wearing a white dress?”
She tries to look for words to explain what’s on her mind. “I- um…” Being a child must be hard, I thought, staring at her fidgeting fingers.
“M-mommy said I was a princess!” She huffed, darting her eyes away from me. “So I’m looking for a prince!”
I remember trying to hold my laughter. Her innocence was fragile, so full of purity. I felt my lips curving into a smile, and somehow feeling nostalgic just by taking a glance at her round face.
“You’ve got to have high hopes for the perfect man, kid.” I say, looking at the endless sea. “Not all men can be a great prince.” At that moment I realized, I was talking about the reflection in the water, I was talking about me.
Of course, her tiny mind could not comprehend what I was trying to say. Being an adult meant knowing more, being more aware. The older you get, the higher expectations are, and you would be bombarded with overwhelming stress. Being young had its benefits, and having innocence would protect you from the shadows. For once, I found myself crying at the sight of the child.
She didn’t know what to do, but at that time, she tried her best to cheer up a teenager like me. “Mister, I’m pretty sure you’ll be a great prince!” She exclaimed, grinning goofily.
I laugh at her bold assumption, and like that, I was content with myself.
…
It was roughly 4 years ago when that incident happened.
No longer did I see the innocent smile of that kid. I went back to seeing the sight of my crying mother trying to beg her drunken husband for forgiveness. My father would never let his pride sink down, and so I saw the tragic love dissolve into ashes. Once my mother divorced, our small family was left with bankruptcy. My older sister and mother would fall into the trap of adultery, just for the sake of gaining money. The sight was pathetic, and I was ashamed to even come from that family. Seeing the horror on what it’s like growing up, I grew up thinking that I would never be an adult, so my foolish mind went back to carelessly ignoring my problems and running away.
But I’m 18 now, and I can’t rewind back to the time when I was young.
I can’t rewind to the time when my mother would wholeheartedly forgive me, and the time where I would eat mama’s best pastas. I couldn’t whine about my life and fool around with my friends. Most importantly, I couldn’t go back home.
Miserable, I lay on my fortress of blankets, my heart filled with the void of nothing. Glued to the phone on my hands, I check my messages like it’s a routine.
Sis: please do call me. it’s urgent.
And so I did. I heard her shaky breath across the phone and the voice cracks that came out every once and a while. On this day, after 2 years of abandoning my family, I got to talk to my sister, but I had shed heavy tears.
On my 18th birthday, my mother died.
…
A blanket of darkness covered my cold, shivering body. My voice tries to escape, but there is no sound coming out. I could not see, and I could not speak. Alone, I try to call for help, but I was muted by the sound of nothing.
Unknowingly, a river flows down from my eyes, and I’m bawling.
“What’s wrong, mister?” A voice called out, sweet and small, just like the pure breed of innocence.
Silence was my friend.
The voice finally came out from the shadows, and revealed the girl from 3 years ago. Mixed emotions were all I felt. “You know,” I notice her form taking the shape of a 15 year old girl. The same age I was when I met her. “I was tired of living like a child.”
Silence was my best friend.
“I didn’t want to grow up, yet I didn’t want to stay like a helpless child.” She says, now with 2 fists. “I was so determined to grow up, but I didn’t have anyone to look up to.”
“Adults are so disappointing. When I saw you, I thought that you were an adult…” She trailed off into the distance. “…An adult wearing pajamas, finally happy with himself and not killing his mood with negative thoughts…”
“But I was five, I was stupid.” She shot me a glare. “Of course you were a coward teenager who runs away from the thought of being an adult.”
My pride was insulted. I was enraged. “You don’t know how it’s like…” I say, forcing myself to move from this invisible chain.
“I DO, JACOB, I DO!” the raise of tone alerted me. It was even more shocking that she knew my name. “I know who you are, and I know how you lived like.”
“You’re my father’s original son.” At that moment my rage was no longer to be found. My body is filled with shock, and I stood there, thinking about what this child once felt. This was my father’s fault; he’s the one who made this child feel like she belonged in the dumps. Then again, anger flowed through my veins.
“And you know what dad is?” I waited for an answer. There was no reply. “An adult.” I answer, still angry.
“No, that’s different. He was an adult that chose to live immaturely.”
“You need to listen to your own advice.” She says, this time, her body shape-shifted into a younger phase. “You’ve got to have high hopes for the perfect man, kid.”
I tear up a little at the memory. “I was bluffing at that time.” I reveal, and she only just laughs. “No, you were lying to yourself, because a perfect man doesn’t exist.”
“Everyone has their own faults, even the people who seem perfect. You’re angry at dad because he wasn’t perfect.”
She laughs once more. “Well, let me tell you this: He chose to not strive for perfection. Like what you said, you need to have high hopes.”
High hopes, huh?
“If you have high hopes for yourself, and always try hard, you can grow up.”
I never knew the words of a 5 year old dead child would make me feel motivated. “Please make the future a better place.”
And then her white figure was gone.
…
I woke up, thinking about that dream. I had to grow up, and I had to live for myself.
When I visited the coffin of my mother, I whispered to her, “Mother, I love you.”
“I promise I’ll grow up into a better person.”
And so I lived, having high hopes for a better future, and to finally be content with myself.
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