It's all superficial.
“I’ve bought a new house!”
Or perhaps it was “I’ve bought my new house!”. I cannot really remember; besides, as I soon found out, it was not really a “house” to begin with. It was, in actuality, an apartment unit.
But the meaning was clear, and that statement rocked me anyway.
It simply means that she is now financially secure to place monthly payments for this new, adult phase in her life; but above all, it means she has a place she can proudly call her home, for herself now.
She is only one year older than me.
I am happy for her, yes, but not because she is well to do now.
I have been thinking, and no –
I have no plans to get myself a new car; one with its sleek and shiny exterior regularly reflecting the comical features of people who inadvertently stare, with eyes unmoving and jaws dropping, as it zips past them.
I have no plans to invest in property; one with tall glass windows that open up to a dazzling display of brilliant colours whenever the sun sets over the horizon, painting silhouettes and drawing curtains all over the city as night beckons.
I have no plans to again trudge off to classes, with lecture notes and a water bottle in hand. I have no plans to climb up the career ladder, to enhance my resume and work experience in whichever way possible. I have no plans to go for big bucks the fast way, nor plans to place myself next to the Eiffel Tower or even in a rock band.
Do I plan to turn into a millionaire before I hit thirty? When should I just grab any guy on the street and settle down for good – is there a sell-by date, an expiry date for this? Did I tell myself to become a CEO of a multinational company before I hit my forties?
In short, I have no plans at all. Measured by age or not, I have no real aims, no real goals. It is all a blank. I see no future to mould just yet.
Perhaps I am comfortable.
But what if I am not, and I do not even know it?