Mar 28, 2017 | On the womb
This evening, I was sitting at the Didirion Station in San Jose waiting for a bus to Los Angeles. It was a Monday evening, 11pm. I just finished a goodbye dinner in a good restaurant with my sister. I was at the station from where the cheapest buses to Los Angeles were taking off, and I was there mostly to taste some folklore; just to try some simple life from time to time once I am on travel.
I just grabbed my newest iPhone in order to put the pics on Instagram, and at that very moment, I noticed a girl sitting on the opposite bench. She had long, unbrushed hair, she was wearing an old, grey hoody and a pair of a dirty snickers, and she was curling over some textbook and making notes in paper. She looked cute but on the other hand, she looked like that child no one is taking care of. She clearly did not feel good when being observed neither, and she was occasionally taking glimpses at everyone around like a person with some sort of an anxiety problem. “Poor girl” — I thought. — “What is she even doing here? She is probably commuting to school by these dirty buses. And she is still making notes in print, what an old school style, doesn’t she have a laptop?” And then I realized that the person sitting on that bench is me myself. More precisely: me, twelve years ago. I was looking like this, and behaving like this. So much can change for as little time as a decade… Where will I be in a decade from now? No idea…
I am writing this because I feel I am developing at a fast speed right now — as a researcher, and as a person. The destination, however, remains unknown. In a sense, a development is inevitable: whatever you choose, then — as long as you are willing to learn — you will develop in this or that way. And that makes me feel like being on the womb: yes, life is a gamble, but with expected returns so high that the strategy does not even matter that much, it is just important to keep on playing.