Millisecond Bliss

4. Hello Irrationality

"In no universe are the Star Wars prequels better than the original movies," I say, for some reason really invested in this debate about Hollywood's unnecessary need to make prequels to very popular franchises which has stemmed from a comparatively mild discussion about our favourite movies.

Yaris chuckles, somewhat amused by my statement. "I'll admit, the originals are cinematic-ally ahead of their time, but the prequels are master pieces," argues Yaris.

Both of us are firmly rooted in our opinions, therefore this argument is going nowhere fast, so I decide to end it here. "Let's agree to disagree on this one."

We've been driving for a good thirty minutes. We are not too far from our destination at this point, and after 30 minutes of talking about our favourite movies, Yaris has seemingly settled into the fact that he has exposed a part of himself to me, a girl he barely knows yet trusts.

Frankly speaking, at this point in time, getting emotionally naked with Yaris doesn't sound too awful. Sure, my baggage is considerably hefty, but passing up an opportunity to vent and dissect my emotions with a willing participant doesn't seem particularly wise especially now that Yaris seems a lot more composed than he had been just after he had opened up to me. Just like Yaris, I've been holding back the emotional ramifications of decisions I've made about my future, too afraid of the weight of those emotions. Even as I sit here, in the passenger seat of a bottle-green station-wagon with a vaguely familiar alternative pop song softly playing through the speakers, I can feel my best friend Anxiety creeping into my thoughts.

She, being the unforgiving devil that she is, shines a light on my suppressed insecurities. She makes me question whether Yaris will receive my story well and belittles me for the decisions that I've made in my past. She reminds me that telling my story will alter the way Yaris sees me and not necessarily for the better.

"Are you even listening?" asks Yaris, bringing me out of my musings. He must've been talking about something which I probably failed to hear because I was far too deep in my thoughts.

"Sorry, you were saying?" I say, shaking my head as if to shake Anxiety out of it.

"I was just talking about how Murmoho is actually located in a restaurant. You know, initially the place was a library, I think about thirty years ago, hence the sharing of literary quotes which had been initiated by the Vietnamese man who owned the library in the hopes broadening the minds of his frequenters. He thought that if someone shared a beautiful quote from a book they'd read then people who would see this quote would be inclined to read the book it's from. I don't know if it worked but when the man passed on, his daughter, who was his successor, turned the library into a café but in remembrance of her father she kept the wall up and to this day people are encouraged to share beautiful quotes there," describes Yaris, seemingly infatuated with the idea of Murmoho.

Hearing about Murmoho again isn't at all what I was expecting— mostly because I had completely forgotten that we were going there— Yaris to talk about but once he does, Anxiety takes to the backseat for a little while, while I once again fall in love with Murmoho.

"Thanks for sharing that with me," I say, genuinely grateful for him unintentionally reprieving my mind of Anxiety.

"No thanks needed, I was just sharing my love for the place."

"You said that you've never been there before, so why are you so in love with the place? I mean just from hearing you speak about it, it sounds amazing but I just can't get why you're so infatuated," sure I'm prying again as opposed to opening up, but questioning people has always been my forte, unlike explaining myself which I'd been told on numerous occasions is my 'Hamartia'. Thanks to my inability to adequately express myself I am stuck in a situation where I've only barely graduated high-school, with far too low marks to do the course my family wants me to take and a secret passion I'm too chicken-shit to pursue. Initially my friends only joked about my inability to explain my emotions as being my 'Hamartia' but they have no idea how on the mark they were, because it truly has screwed me over.

"I honestly don't know, I just do," is all he says in response to my question, his mirth having fizzled away leaving him in a state similar to the one he had been in prior to him disclosing his own insecurities to me which tells me that he knows why, he's just not ready to share that with me quite yet, which I respect. I haven't shared anything about myself with him, it would be unfair of me to expect that of him.

Bearing this in mind, I loudly sigh. Here goes nothing— I'm finally sharing, even though this conversation with Yaris about my decisions is probably going to be the easiest one on the subject matter I'm ever going to have, I'm still extremely mortified of initiating the conversation. At this point, the only thing sort of pacifying Anxiety is the fact that like me, Yaris is familiar with the concept of lying to parents.

"Remember your offer to listen and not judge any of my emotional baggage, well, I'm taking up that offer now," I say.

Yaris takes his eyes off the road for a second to meet my eyes. "Only if you're sure you want to." I'm glad he says this, and I'm also glad that he hadn't pressed on the issue earlier, he has respected my need to share with him in my own time which makes telling him somewhat easier.

"I'm skipping graduation today because I can't face my parents. When results came out a while back, they were off the grid, so they had to wait until just yesterday, as they waited to board a plane, so they'd make it to graduation, to finally see my results, which were straight Ds. You can imagine how disappointed they were, but because they had a flight to catch, they didn't immediately call me after finding out. They arrived late last night, and I left home super early this morning, so haven't seen them yet," I take a breather.

"That's not even the gist of it. I stay with my uncle because my parents work with the U.N, wait I didn't tell you that did I, well that's why they travel so often. He's known since results day of my failure and living with him was bad enough, as he constantly reminded me that I couldn't study finance anymore, not with my shit grades. And he has every right to be mad except I don't want to study finance, never have. But I don't blame my family for pushing that career choice onto me, because when I was picking subjects to take in A-level, I was completely misguided and at the time finance didn't seem too bad, but I never did have a passion for business.

"At some point during the first year of A-level, I found myself immersing myself in completing this mural I'd started at fifteen for fun. When I was fifteen it was just a stupid hobby but in A-level, it was an insanely important project. Soon I started skipping class to complete it, so much so that I extended over the area I'd initially planned to paint, and my grades began slipping, but I didn't care because I was doing something that I loved. The job I'd taken after school to pay for all the paint I'd been using didn't help my grades either, so my final results weren't exactly a surprise to me. However, I never did muster the courage to tell my uncle about the mural and me skipping class which I know teachers will surely bring up today," finally I exhale, sure I've covered the entirety of my situation.

Yaris doesn't immediately say anything after my rant, presumably absorbing all I've told him. "Did you finish the mural?" Is all he asks after a while of silence.

"Uhm... yeah," I stutter, taken aback by his question as that is the last thing I'm expecting him to say. "I'll show it to you someday."

Yaris smiles. "I'd love that." In as much as I appreciate the sentiment, the consequences of my decisions are waiting for me in my thoughts.

So, let's lay down the facts. Fact one: finance is entirely off the table for me and my entire family is disappointed in me. Fact two: I want to go to art school. Fact three: I could be entirely shit at art and not make it into art school at all and find myself with no future prospects, working minimum wage at a dead-end job. The last one may not necessarily be a fact but it's a looming possibility which scares the crap out of me. I screwed up by not telling my family that I not only sucked at business subjects, but I also had other passions. I screwed up by skipping class. I screwed up by flunking, so if art doesn't work out, I am absolutely fucked. Hell, if my parents find out about me skipping class, I doubt they'll be particularly eager to pay for art school. Unfortunately, this is my life now, and I must live with the consequences of my poor decisions.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I silently begin to cry.

"You screwed up and now you're scared. I know that feeling. I don't know how to make you feel better, but I do want you to remember that you're not alone. I'm unsure and scared about the future too," whispers Yaris, consolingly.

I want to say, 'I know,' but I'm sure my voice will crack so I remain silent. Using the back of my hand I brush the tears away from my cheeks then resort to looking at the blurred images of trees we pass through the window as we zoom towards our destination.