our might-have-beens

I was searching for books to devour when I stumbled upon As I was passing by Adibah Amin. Mind you, I was at home (not that I'm home now) and (even more sadly) not in a bookstore. But sometimes I realize that there are books at home which, regardless of the times you read it, still makes you turn every page with excitement- they are evergreen:) So I know at times even when I'm searching for pages to peer through, I can find them all at home, among the piles of paperbacks and horde of hardcovers.

So the other day I came upon As I was passing by Adibah Amin on my dusty bookshelf. I first heard of Adibah Amin from my mom- she used to read Adibah's column in the NST back when my mama was a teen. Her writings were all compiled into a book As I was passing and there's even a second series:) Come to think of it, it's funny that something written as long as 30 years ago can still be an awesome read now. Imagine how fantastic of a writer she is! What an achievement: to mesmerize the minds of teenagers now and then.

The thing I love most about her writing is that they are short but sweet. You can open up any page and it's a whole story- beginning, body and end within 3 pages. They're easy to relate to and she makes readers (or at least me) smile in recognition and smirk of the topics she talks about.

This afternoon when I decided to take a break from Microbiology mind-boggling matters, I wanted to take a nap but then I saw the book which was lying so irresistibly inviting next to my pillow.

It so happened that this was the first short story I opened to. So here's a treat -an excerpt from one of her writings- by one of my most favourite authors (my first would be Jamilah Samian):

OUR MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS

As I was passing

Adibah Amin

Looking back at the 'crossroads' in your life, do you like to imagine where you would be today if you had taken a road other than the one you took?

I must confess this is one of my favourite pastimes. A futile exercise, the more sensible of my friends say: for the fact remains that you took the road you took and here you are and there is nothing you can do about it. Alas, this is only too true. Yet for each realistic person I know, there are a dozen dreamers who share my weakness for the game of might-have-beens.

Suppose you had signed up for sciences as your family wanted instead of for arts, where would you be this moment? Sitting in your own posh clinic, perhaps, prescribing pills and potions to the pscychosomatic rich; or driving your Mercedes-Benz to a construction site to proffer expert advice; or just as likely, slogging soullessly at your seventh temporary job along fellow failures and dropouts.

And suppose you had chosen that nice boy you could not fall for because he was too nice instead of the impossible character you did choose; how would your life have turned out? Nice and neat, probably. By not the two of you would have your own home with potted ferns and lace curtains; one big car and one small car; one strapping son and one cute daughter.

You cannot be certain, however, that the nice boy would have remained nice. People change. After all, the impossible character you married has become somewhat less impossible over the years. There is no way of telling whether you did in fact make the right choice.

Not even if you bump into that nice boy again and find he has matured into just as nice a man. Before you begin to envy his wife her good fortune, you might as yourself to what extent he owes his continued niceness to her. Who knows but that marriage to you might have made a moster out of him, human chemistry being the crazy thing it is.

Still, when the impossible one is at his most impossible, it does help to be able to say to your regular confidante over a cup of coffee, "I should have chosen A." Just as, when your job in the civil service or teaching or journalism or whatever gets you really down, you can put back quite a bit of bounce in your spirits if you say airily, "You know, of course, I had a chance to do marine biology."

......

It is a harmless game if you know when and how to stop. The danger point is when you start sighing, "If only I could live my life over again..."

The thing is to say brutally to yourself: I cannot live my life over again. And even if I could, me being me at that time, I would have made the same decisions. So there.

Ah, she writes so deliciously. I want to write just like her:)