Sometimes I think I feel a hunger for the world so immersive and overpowering that I’m beside myself; forever a paradox. On one hand, I want to plant roots and build a permanent home, no longer restless and on the move, yet on the other hand, this curiosity – hunger – is the fuel, a key essence, to my ambitious nature.
Sometimes I wonder, would I have turned out softer, gentler, less curious and hungry – more content – had I learned to tame or suppress ambition. What is this perpetual hunger; how do I silence it?
Would I have been a wife at 24, mother by 25? Would I have learned to settle by 21, already calling Malaysia home-sweet-permanent-home? Would I have allowed the concept of a boy, then man, to fully form in my mind and thus busied myself falling for The One instead of jumping between the different natures of love – never a person, always a concept? Would I have treaded life with less scrutiny, more acceptance? Would I have grown up content, not greedy, of my fill and share?
Would I have turned out differently? Exactly how… “different”?
I think I am curious as to which one do I lean more heavily towards: nature or nurture. In a wholly different circumstance and background driven by different life principles, would my fighting spirit diminish? Or would it still thrive? Would I find myself less or more of the person that I am? These questions are endless.
I look at these girls, some of them random strangers, and sometimes I wonder – the small voice in my mind questions – had I grown up in a different setting with a wholly different set of variables and controls; would I have settled – maybe even more easily – for these seemingly simpler, definitely typical, outcomes of marriages and babies and happily ever afters?
Because it was ambition – my ambition – that conceptualized and embedded a dream – a wholly different and new life half the globe away – into my naive, eleven year-old self. Ambition, undeniably, was thus the fuel for the subsequent eight years that followed as the wheels of dreams coincided with reality, slowly but surely. Ambition too, was responsible for the overwhelming hunger to stay on for an additional two years, realizing a dream within a dream. Even now, it is still ambition that propels my fighting spirit, the key that turns on the engine of my endless curiosity.
If I am not equipped with ambition – an internal hunger so immersive and overpowering – would I have settled easier for a life behind picket fences, where a warm house with a table first made for two then more, awaits?
It is a curious thing, this that throbs inside of me.