I have no more expectations. Its a strange feeling. Ive always lived sailing quite happily on expectations. Ive always lived on either the highs or on the rubble beneath my feet. Then something Im starting to experience quite a lot lately happened – an epiphany.
I like that word. Say it. It rolls off your tongue. It sounds yummy and delightful. Like savoring chocolate chip ice cream on a hot day at Breach Candy, and like finding perfect daisies in a dark alley. I digress. My epiphany. It hit me. Suddenly, and painfully and I reeled over, holding my head and my sides. I suddenly realised how much space expectations took up in my head. Now that they’re gone, my thoughts roam. Crystaller and clearer than before. I know now, that I want to major in Journalism. Theres little logic or reasoning behind the knowledge. I just know. I knew the minute I stopped wondering and expecting. I expected to do really well in Advertising and I expected to get low grades in Journalism. My expectations, as they usually are, were wrong. And that knowledge made me twist things around and see things like I havent seen them before. Apart from my academic and professional life, Ive also given up on expectations where relationships are concerned. I realised that my expectations were unfair and extremely demanding and I always got disappointed when those expectations werent met. The disappointment is always more painful than any epiphany or expectation.
I have decided that Mappings needs a holiday. He doesnt know where he’s going to go yet, but he’s got plenty of travel agents on his speed dial. He’s thinking of somewhere sunny. He’s become very tired and very low on self-esteem. That probably answers why he hasnt had much to say in so long. He likes to spend most of his days lying on a yellow sofa and staring at the trees. He cant even finish a cup of tea anymore. And Mappings has always been very big on chai and has always scoffed at my Starbucks phobia. So this lethargy where chai is concerned is something I take seriously. He has become jaded and doesnt feel he’s worth much. So, he’s decided to get away for a while. Maybe he’ll go fishing, or lie on clean soft sand. Maybe he’ll read some Nietzsche, or remember how to write poetry. Maybe he’ll just wander around taking a lot of photographs. But he needs to be. Alone.
He doesnt know when he’ll be back. Maybe in a week. Or 10 days. Or a month. Or more. He doesnt know, and to be honest, he doesnt care. He’s more focused on whether to take the big squishy duffel bag or his favourite Samsonite bag. He knows I understand. And I do. I so do. He hopes the weather will be wonderful. He hope it’ll rain. He hopes he’ll be a successful fisherman. He hopes he’ll fall in by mistake. He hopes he’ll get fixed. He hopes he wont. He hopes he’ll get some reading done. He hopes he’ll spend all his time sleeping. He hopes he’ll get to sightsee. He hopes he falls violently ill. He hopes, he doesnt.
He has no expectations.