ACROSS the SEA

“Dong! Dong! Dong!”

The sound burst through the window, ripping through the silence, shattering my dream. For a heartbeat, I thought it was just part of the nightmare, until the pain hit. I jolted awake drenched in sweat.

Drops slid down my neck to my bare chest, sticky and slow, like melting rubber. My head was pounding, a relentless drumbeat that never seems to leave, only quiets when I sleep.

My temples throbbed. The nightmares hadn't ended; it had followed me into waking. Another day, another reminder of the path that I didn't take.

I know I should say my prayers before engaging in anything else, especially after the dream I just had. But what does it matter, I'm lost anyway.

I lay back on the bed trying to calm the storm in my head. I stared at the ceiling, gray and flat. If I had left.... The thought came unbidden, persistent as the pounding in my skull.

Abroad. Anywhere but here. Would I have friends who understood me? Love that fit the life that I dreamed of? Or would I still be carrying the same fear, the same doubts that seem to have shaped me against my will.

I pressed my palm against my face, my head feels foggy again. Family expectations, career choices, casual conversations; they all weighed heavier now, reminders that I stayed. That I chose certainty over possibility.

I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander. In one blink, I was somewhere else entirely: the streets of a city I'd never visited, crisp air scented with unfamiliar food, laughter spilling from cafés. I felt lighter, freer. Then the vision dissipated, replaced by the stale, musty smell of my room, the weight of my decisions pressing down like mountains on my chest.

Regret doesn't arrive all at once, it whispers in quiet moments, sneaks into day dreams, and gnaws at your sleep. It's in the choice I made to stay, in the love I ignored for convenience, and in the desires I surrendered for comfort.

A text buzzed on my phone. The glow from its screen illuminating the room and casting a black mass of me on the wall. If regret had a shape, this would be it. I grabbed it, hopeful for distraction, only to see a message from her; the one I chose, not the one I still dream about. The one who seemed perfect at the time, the one who reminds me of every thing wrong with my life with just her presence.

"Are you coming out tonight"

I felt too numb to reply, shivers of uncertainty overwhelmed me, I could almost taste its bitterness in my mouth. How could I explain that I felt like a shadow, stretched thin between what is and what could have been? That every decision I made opened cracks that I couldn't patch? That I envied a life I never lived, yet was fully terrified to commit to the one that I have?

I let the phone fall back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Somewhere, in another reality, I was laughing. Somewhere, I was with her; the one I should have chosen, but that world didn't exist here.

And yet, here I am, trapped between two lives: the one I chose and the one I lost.

I thought about the moment I made that choice. I can still feel the emotions that clouded my thoughts, like it's branded into my chest. The bright campus abroad, filled with strangers who could have become friends, mentors, a love I never let bloom.

And then here, the familiar streets, people angry for any and every reason, the filth that litters the street, every debris sticking out as if to mock me for my choice, a life I could manage but never fully embrace. I chose comfort over potential, safety over ambition, and the consequences have been patient and merciless, following me like shadows that stretch longer every day.

Even the people around me reflect that choice. My friends abroad posts vibrant lives; parties I will never attend, places I'll never see, faces I'll never meet. Every photo feels like a reminder of the path I was too afraid to take.

And then there's her — the girl I chose. Exciting and indulgent, filling the vacuum in my soul, yet completely incompatible with the future I imagined. Every evening with her is a mix of pleasure and guilt. Even the life I chose is imperfect, I thought to myself. I can't leave her. I can't commit to her. Every glance at her reminds me of the one I ignored — the girl who was everything I planned to become.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine the two of them existing side by side in alternate realities. In one, I chase the girl who could have been mine, abroad, laughing, alive in a life full of possibility. In the other, I stay with the girl who is mine here and now, thrilling, but always slightly out of place, like a puzzle piece forced where it doesn't belong.

Just when my mind was starting to slow down, a rooster crowed funnily in the distance. "Cock-a-doodle-do", almost like a deflating balloon. I felt a smile starting to form on my lips — I dared to smile — and immediately, a truck honked so loudly outside the window, piercing my thoughts, bouncing off the walls of my emptying mind like a ping pong ball, and dragging my pain back to the surface.

I shivered. These daydreams don't feel harmless, they feel like warnings, phantoms of decisions and their consequences. I try to shake them, but they cling. They gnaw at the edges of my sleep, invade in my mornings, and haunts my nights. The life I chose feels like a cage, and the one I didn't like a ghost I will never hold.

Somewhere deep down, I know I have to make a choice, or at least try to reconcile with the one I made. But fear keeps me inert. I keep moving, keep pretending, keep convincing myself that stability is enough. But I know it's not. And somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if I'll ever forgive myself for the life I let slip by.

And yet, I rise. I move forward, because the past is a ghost, and the future uncertain. The only thing I can control is this moment, even though the moment seems to be the one in control.

Then, faintly, from somewhere outside my window— three sharp sounds.

“Dong! Dong! Dong!”

Like the dream calling me back.

I reached for my phone again; her message still there, waiting.

This time, I didn't let it echo in my head.

I typed two words and hit send: "Not tonight."

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was the first choice I'd made for myself in years.