Prophecy fulfilled - almost.

Predicting the future. Special mention goes to my high school English teacher, Sir Joseph. Thank you for this assignment nine years ago.

Several weeks back, my mother showed me a piece of paper she found in one of her house-cleaning escapades. It was a sheet of intermediate pad with the familiar small, slanted handwriting on both sides, save for the red marks from my high school English teacher. I told my mom I've seen it already—of course, because I wrote it, but nine years have passed since then. What I meant to say was I saw it again just a couple of months ago, while rummaging through some more papers in my mom’s clinic looking for something… important. I don’t know. The minute I got hit with that blast-from-the-past, I completely forgot what I was looking for in the first place and started re-reading my juvenile attempt to predict the future.

I remember that homework so well: the teacher asked us to write down (in English, as always) what we thought we would be ten years from now. It wasn't exactly a new thing to ask, as I eventually figured out after being asked the same question again and again when I started looking for work. Over time, it lost its novelty and got a little tired—for me, at least, because it just kept on creeping its way into interviews and conversations for the longest time. And I’d also like to think that as we get older, we start to see a clearer picture of who we are and who we want to be. We set more tangible and realistic goals for ourselves and execute them as planned. We are much more in control of our decisions and our actions, and are able to discern (hopefully with a strong moral backbone to support us) what is good or bad, right or wrong, gift or curse. And so, answering that question seems a hell of a lot easier now than when we were younger.

But for a wide-eyed 14-year-old kid, who was two years away from graduating with only the slightest indication of who he wanted to be when he grows up, to think of the future was the most frightening thing in the world. Its uncertainty brought about a sense of discomfort. Of uneasiness to accept the constancy of change. Of reluctance to surrender everything that was comfortable. All of which are expected, for who in their right minds would ever feel secure about tomorrow if they are already in bad shape today? Indeed, nothing in life is ever really guaranteed. Rather, they are borrowed. Which means at some point, everyone will have to return everything. Even if you are not a person of faith, you would have to agree that this premise is somewhat plausible. I mean, think about it: No one brings their golden iPhone 5S with them to their grave. If you are a person of faith, you know that you certainly can’t take it with you to Heaven—even if the reception up top must be insanely good. I’m guessing, anyway.

And yet the possibilities were endless for that 14-year-old kid. They still are, even when he turns 23. It just took him a while to realize that the world was his for the taking, while he’s still got air to breathe. He can fancy himself a problem-solver, a freelance-slash-frustrated writer, or both at the same time. He can learn a lot of languages—Latin, Spanish, Japanese, Java, SQL, HTML—and make complete sense, if not complete sentences, out of them. He can travel the world and count the miles along the way. And he can surround himself with a lot of great people and learn from them while being totally wasted with them.

It’s like that Cat Stevens song from an episode of Ray Donovan, the one where Ray sings a lullaby to his daughter Bridget:

“Well, if you want to sing out, sing out.

And if you want to be free, be free.

‘Cause there’s a million things to be.

You know that there are.

And if you want to live high, live high.

And if you want to live low, live low.

‘Cause there’s a million ways to go.

You know that there are.

You can do what you want.

The opportunity’s on.

And if you can find a new way,

you can do it today.

You can make it all true,

and you can make it undo.

You see, ah-ah-ah.

It’s easy, ah-ah-ah.

You only need to know.”

I read my prediction again this morning. Call me naive but I honestly can't help feeling a sense of accomplishment over what I was able to achieve, with a little hint of pride for the things I actually got right. I look back on that assignment today thinking that if I can envision a future for myself in ten years’ time and manage to get it all done, then—God-willing—anything is possible. Because dreams can be small, dreams can be silly, but no one can tell you not to dream.

Oh, yeah. What the hell was my prediction, anyway?

Most probably I would have completed my BS Computer Science course in some prestigious university (University of Santo Tomas, perhaps)…

Sure did. And I was part of the Quadricentennial Batch, too.

I would be working in some computer institution in Singapore or in Malaysia…

Not quite right. But I am working in a computer institution—in every sense of the word. And I’m damn proud of it.

I see myself there having a spacious apartment near the institution, having a laptop from across my shoulders and a Nokia 6230 from my pocket, ringing and ringing because of too much schedules, appointments, meetings, and all other agenda…

No, I don’t live near the office—I am nowhere near the apartment near the office either. Yes, I carry a big-ass laptop over my shoulders to work everyday. And yes, the Nokia 6230 has been phased out. But this was long before Apple and Samsung even considered venturing into the mobile phone business, so the 6230 was “state-of-the-art” for its time. I now own an HTC ChaCha, which I thoroughly enjoy using.

I would be lying on a king-size bed from my room, deeply illuminated with a blue lava lamp, and watching MTV from a projector above my bed to the screen in front of me…

Half-true. My bed isn't king-sized, but it suits me just right. (Think Baby Bear from Goldilocks and the Three Bears.) I don’t have a blue lava lamp, but my bedroom walls were painted blue last year. And I don’t have a projector above my bed, but my TV was upgraded to a flat-screen. It’s still bigger than the last one, so I guess that counts for something.

I would be eating breakfast at McDonald’s, eating a McMuffin, sipping my coffee, and reading Newsweek from my table…

I’m actually starting to get sick of McDonald’s, so I try to get my breakfast elsewhere. And no more Newsweek, unfortunately. Again, half-true.

Not bad, huh.

(My sincerest thanks to everyone who remembered and everyone who greeted. You all know who you are.

Cheers to 23 years. And many more to come.)