The clouds loom, grey-tipped and angry. Almost like waves in the sky, they coil and twist and crash with stunning streaks of lightning. The distant rumble of thunder vibrates in my chest, not unlike the gentle purr of a cat when you hit the right spot. Distant, careful, steady.
The thunder is pulling closer. I can tell. In the two years that I have sat here, the sandy beach of time eroding away from the tips of my toes, I can feel it, moving closer and closer.
It started as a mild tremor. Barely a vibration in the air, barely the movement of the breeze when someone opened their mouth as if to ask, what is your future plan?
I discounted it. Of course I did, just like everyone else around me. Two years is a long time, and I escaped the first storm by running, jumping, ducking, hiding. There was no need for me to worry about a storm that seemed little more than a half-forgotten nightmare, masked behind the joys of discovery and relief that a new haven unfolded in front of me.
It took a few months to watch the trees sway in the breeze, the weights of monkeys dragging the branches lower, the casual games and frolicking making it so easy to escape thinking about the clouds that gathered against the horizon. Invisible to everyone else, stark in my eyes. The thunder rumbled a little louder, as if in warning – your future is one step closer. Start making choices.
The thing no one tells you about the looming storms is the way the winds buffet you in every direction possible – continue studying no go to work no take a break no find an internship no go abroad no family comes first no no no no – until you stand, somehow fully clothed yet stripped naked, wondering what you are and who you are and what you want. The storm surrounds you and demands, with the voices of a thousand insistent throats, that you make a choice.
One year in. The skies were often greyer than expected, an almost unnoticeable weight settling on my shoulders. The two years that felt so long, so distant, were passing by quicker than expected. The clouds gathered, thicker and larger, a far-off menacing presence. I turned away, pretending that the storm inside my mind was a fantasy of mine, that the words that swirled in confused spirals would not affect the choices I made. Because of course I could make a choice, who couldn’t?
The thunder grew just a little stronger, running into my body through the soles of the feet I kept pressed firmly to the ground, in the hopes that flights of fancy would not whip me away.
Now, time is almost up. The waves of progress lap at my feet; the hourglass has nearly run its course. The only way forward is through the storm. What am I? Who am I? What do I want?
I find that the answers seem unknowable. I feel the world keep moving as I stand here, my legs pinned to the ground, the retreating waves sinking them deeper and deeper in the sand.
I know what I am! I know what I want! Screaming at the winds doesn’t make them slow down. They are relentless, and the thunder rumbles harder.
I stand at a crossroads, and wonder, if the choice I make will take me back. Take me back to a time when the world was simpler, and easier, and brighter. Or if the choice I make will take me deeper into the looming storm, until I emerge on the other side, rubbed raw and washed clean, somehow different and tired but maybe a little less scared.
I watch the world go by, and somehow, between one step and another, I expect to join the rushing crowds. I don’t know in what direction I am stepping. The effort of pulling my feet out of the mud is stupendous, but something in me pushes me forward.
Believe in yourself, the wind whispers amidst the howling.
Choices can be simple, if you would just let yourself believe.
And so I do. I take a single step forward.
The clouds break apart.
The roiling seas steady, and the light of the sun glimmers against the waves that lap against the shore.
The breeze is cool and calm, and lifts my hair as if in encouragement.
I see the birds rise, ruffling their wings, to take flight.
I finally join the world in my own right. I am myself, I make my choices, I trust myself.
I am young, I have time.
I am free.
Article 19 