The Secret Life of Daydreams 2

Everyone’s thought about running away before. Maybe after a long, drawn-out argument with your parents and/or siblings over something as mundane as school. Maybe after a particularly embarrassing moment at a party. Maybe even after a traumatic experience of abuse.

Regardless of the circumstances, countless of children and youngsters have contemplated half-seriously about packing their bags and leaving their family in search of a more immediate happiness.

I have done so a few times myself, but those are stories for another time.

For now, where would I go if I ran away? What would I do? How would I live? Certainly, my career goal as a dentist would be temporarily delayed, if not forever. I would probably live somewhere like Las Vegas, a city not too populous, but certainly a city in its own right. I would start by taking in tutoring jobs, maybe living poorly with a day and night job. I’d probably aspire to be a writer of some sort, or maybe a movie critic if I could manage it. I’d be free from the shackles of my parents.

I thought about it extensively today, my daily budget and schedule. I’d probably go into teaching at some elementary education, dealing with young kids. I’m pretty confident with my skill set that I’d find a few jobs, though obviously not high-paying, but well enough to put me above the poverty line.

I'd probably be able to spew out a few screenplays or novels, maybe contribute to a local newspaper.

Maybe I’ll get lucky somehow, strike it rich with a literary piece. I don’t know. I just wanna get outta here. I know I’d find something to do, living as free as I’d like, as happy as can be with my own choices. I know it’d be the perfect lifestyle, no one telling me what to do, what to eat, what to think.

I thought about it for almost an hour, uninterrupted.

Then my mom handed me my bowl of phở.

“I already put lemon in it,” she said as she poured me a cup of milk. “Just how you like it. If you want, there’s more over here. I have tuong (hoisin sauce). Also, if you can’t finish it, just leave it, and your dad can eat it.”

I blinked twice, initially angry at her for interrupting my daydream.

Then I looked at my home-cooked phở and dug in, all thoughts of running away immediately forgotten.

Mom: 1, Andrew: 0.