Our plans that we sorely depend on, lists of things to do, lists of things to think about, the plan of our future that lay in the back of our mind keep us going. They pull us out of the bed in the morning. They give us security, a hope.
Plans give better images and clear our heads. I have nothing against plans and routines. In fact, I often crave them. Whenever I do not have a plan, I panic. I feel stupid without a plan.
But the routine turned out to be the expression of sophistication and sometimes I have an urge to lean on to my fellow people who live according to plans and routines and whisper to their ear “I know nothing bad about escaping once in a while”.
The unexpected is also tasty like the planned completion. I realized when one lives according to plans and routines, what he/she thinks starts to set in one pace.
It does not peak or goes down, however, it is contained in a specific path processing the same plans over and over but imagination and mind are not supposed to be contained.
I know nothing bad about escaping once a while using our imagination and I will tell you why.
There is an image that always appears in my mind, a distraction one would say. I would often think about it when I am running around, trying to complete my list of things that I have for the day.
I think about this particular night, a night where there was something really warm about a smoggy cold winter evening in Mongolia.
It smelled like coals. There were ice, mud and stained snow everywhere covering a road that was built on the mountains like the one San Francisco has, displaying cities and cars but it looked even gloomier and faded. And blue.
Above the road, a sky looked as if it was about to disappear into the gloominess of the winter and the smog from the power station made the day even darker.
I was standing by a busy street breathing in and out while the steam came out of my mouth. I was still a high school student and I stood there watching people gather in the market after getting off their work.
As I recall, it was the day before Christmas. Everyone was running somewhere.
The windows were frosted. The markets and stores seemed to be hiding something magical inside with their windows revealing the blurriness of the dimming lights frosted by the cold from the outside. like a juke box.
The bus windows were frosted as well. From the outside, it looked to be carrying empty seats going back and forth from destination to destination. However, inside it was jammed like the carnival of summer.
People were turned to manufacturing mechanisms factoring steams out of their breath into the thin air. They looked like the power station that stood behind them which relentlessly produced smog.
Everyone looked bundled, revealing no skin that is left for winter wind to touch.
That evening they seemed to be manufacturing joy instead of all the other nights they produce sophistication, despair, plans, and money.
Probably because it was Christmas night. I was standing in the middle of the street, absorbing all of this in my red school uniform.
I was feeling joy but the weight of life seemed to be crushing me that night looking at all the people who were trying to celebrate the New Year but still the life was hard, cold and gloomier. That night of Mongolia never left my mind. The smell of coals. The smile of my father.
Often I wonder when I was standing there; a high school girl in a red uniform in the middle of the street that night, if there was a chance I would have known or sensed that I might be where I am right now.
Do you ask yourself the same question? where you are now.
If I had a plan book and if I lived according to plans all the time like I do right now, probably I would not have been where I am right now and I, a high school girl in a red school uniform would not have known.
Sometimes, things are better and more precious when they are unexpected. Like i cannot forget that night in Mongolia.