A Glimpse of the Future

When I was nineteen years old, I spent every Saturday morning of the summer riding my bicycle by the river. Wearing my worn t-shirt and gym shorts, I would always set off with my second-hand bike at eight-thirty in the morning before returning home two hours later. I latched onto a paved trail near my house which extended a great distance in both directions. Following the river to the West, I passed by open fields of tall grass, occasionally cutting through small communities of quaint two-storey houses with neatly trimmed front yards. About a half-hour in, the path briefly veered away from the river before gradually heading back towards it. It then cut through a forested area which took no more than ten minutes to clear; this was my favorite part of the ride. A lush green canopy protected the trail from the harsh sun, offering a welcome reprieve from the summertime heat. As soon as I entered the woods, I pedaled as fast as I could, let go of the handlebars, and spread my arms to my sides. A cool breeze wrapped around my body and allowed me to take flight. I flew above the forest, and soared far above the river before gliding over the skyscrapers and endless avenues of the nearby city. I passed by flocks of migrating geese who were searching for the next feeding ground, and I counted the number of pedestrians crossing the river’s largest bridge. From my high vantage point, my worries almost completely vanished. Only in that patch of forest was I able to truly enjoy some solace.

I was blessed with kind and understanding parents, and an upbringing in which I was taught the value of helping others and working hard. Yet the greater my academic accomplishments, the greater the pressure to stay on target. I managed to get enrolled at the university of my choosing, to which my parents were immensely proud. During that final summer before the start of a new chapter of my life, I squeezed in as much leisure as I could between my part time job and my preparatory studying. I knew that my Saturday morning bike rides were among the precious few moments left before the looming surge of lectures, assignments, mid-terms, and final exams that would engulf me for four intense months every semester. And after that, I would only have a few short days to resurface and catch my breath before the next wave. Like a novel whose ending I wished to know without having to read through all its pages, I yearned to catch a glimpse of the future; if only to be sure that it all would work out in the end.

One Saturday morning, a woman in the forest tended to her bicycle, pumping her front tire by the side of the paved trail. I grabbed my handlebars and came to a stop a few feet away.

— Do you need some help, Ma’am?
— No thank you, that’s very kind.

She wore well-fitted biking apparel. Her bicycle was clearly a high-end model, bringing my own gear to shame. As she continued pumping the tire, I observed her from head to toe. She must have been twice my age, but her physique hinted at a dedicated exercise routine. I glanced at her face, only to realize she greatly resembled me. She matched more a photo of myself than what I saw in the mirror. I could have mistaken her for a long lost aunt my mother never mentioned. Even her long silky brown hair also seemed to belong to our family’s lineage.

— Do you often come here?
— Yes, Ma’am.
— No need to be so formal, Dear. You can call me Lia — that’s what my friends call me.

She spoke with a tender voice and a perfect command of every syllable and intonation. Completely at ease, yet in full control. I tried my best to emulate her masterful delivery, but came up short.

— Pleased to meet you, Lia. My name is Ophelia.
— What a pretty name, Ophelia. Such a literary name, in fact. Do you want to become an artist by any chance?
— Actually, I’d like to be an architect.
— You don’t say?
— Yes, I find architecture so fascinating, and it can contribute so much to our society. It’s just that…

Lia nodded, encouraging me to continue. I felt, however, that I had already shared too much with someone I just met.

— My parents think that architecture is a wonderful subject to study, but they would rather I pursue a different discipline.
— I understand. Sometimes, our parents’ plans don’t coincide with our own dreams.
— May I ask you what you do?
Lia smiled. — I’m an architect.

Under the dense canopy, Lia recounted the time she found her passion for architecture. She was sixteen years old when her parents took her to the National Centre for Performing Arts to view a performance. Lia told me she forgot whether they were attending a concert or a dance, but she remembered the cavernous auditorium filled with three thousand spectators. Sitting in the twenty-first row near the center of the room, she couldn’t fathom how its luscious and ornate contours managed to safely maintain its structure upright. It bathed in soothing lighting before the curtains went up. And when the lights dimmed and the performance began, the auditorium’s walls gently absorbed the acoustics emanating from the main stage. In Lia’s eyes, the auditorium’s design embodied elegance and function so seamlessly that it virtually elevated any performance gracing its stage. 

— I would go back time and time again. Not to see people perform, but to see how the auditorium enhanced the performance.

Mosquitos began swarming us. For a moment, we forgot we were standing motionless in the forest and decided to guide our bikes out on foot. Lia looked me directly in the eyes when she spoke, her smile emanating such warmth. I came to realize she was my exact height and our gaits were nearly identical.

Ever since that evening at the National Centre for Performing Arts, Lia began researching the practice of architecture. She read any book on the subject she could find at the library, and began reaching out to architectural firms to inquire about what was needed to obtain a license. Over the next few years, she became a living encyclopedia of architectural feats ranging from antiquity to the modern era. When she couldn’t find anyone with whom to discuss the aesthetic merits of Casa Battló or the National Parliament House in Dhaka, she sought out like-minded enthusiasts, corresponding with them whenever she could. Her path forward was all but established. The parallels with my own experience of discovering and learning about architecture astonished me. Lia embodied every predetermined aspect of my future. She was living the life I aspired to live, and became the person I wanted to be. As we continued along through the forested path, I wanted to know how she accomplished it all. Countless questions plagued my mind, but I couldn’t find the words.

— Lia, sometimes I feel like there’s so much I want to do at once. I know what I need to accomplish in order to become an architect, but I want to dive into it as soon as possible. I don’t want to wait for any of it. Is this normal?
— I’ve been there myself. That’s passion, Ophelia. Not everybody has it. It may seem overwhelming, but it gives you the fuel you need. It can be directed in such a way that there’s no stopping yourself.
— How, how do I do that?
— Just let things happen.

She must have seen my puzzled look, and continued.

— I can’t exactly explain this, if I’m being honest. It’s something you can only really learn from your own personal experiences. But believe me, when those moments arrive, you’ll act, and you’ll learn. And you can always ask for help. People will always help, as they have helped me. That’s how you’ll stay on the right path.

Ophelia turned towards the trail to visually emphasize her last point, and realized that the end of the forest was in view. She grinned upon recognizing the blinding sun rays at the opening of the canopy ahead.

— I envy you, Lia. You have so much ahead of you. When we have an abundance of something, we forget how valuable it is. And then it runs out.

Things began falling into place. I gradually made sense of all the pieces that overwhelmed me. It was as if I had already embarked on the upcoming journey in my life where university classes began and new friendships were forged; where the challenges of academia combined with the tests of life; where my unfettered youth boldly propelled me through years of victories and defeats, with barely the time to pause, to contemplate, and to absorb. Was I already living through it?

We arrived at the edge of the forest where the skies opened up. As Ophelia and I emerged from under the canopy, I squinted from the harsh sun, taking a few seconds to adjust my sight to its unrelenting glare. When my eyes adapted, I felt my bike lighter to the touch, and realized I was holding the high-end model whose tire had been pumped a few minutes earlier. My tight-fitting cycling shirt and shorts surprised me with their almost non-existent weight and their comfort. I turned towards my new friend. Gone was the forty-year-old who related to me her heroic ascent towards a career in architecture. A nineteen-year-old stood in her place, wearing a simple t-shirt and gym shorts, with a second-hand bike in tow. Her smile radiated so much hope and wonder, unspoiled by the realities of life that would eventually face her. I saw her future as clearly as it happened: graduating from a prestigious university and applying for an internship with a renowned architectural firm; toiling for months under the tutelage of demanding, yet giving mentors; obtaining her license before joining a growing firm of budding architects; and finally founding her own practice where she could choose which projects to devote her time and passion to. I also observed how this eighteen-year-old girl lived through costly excesses and numbing idleness during her spare time, and how it took years for her to realize they were fueled by self-indulgence and a need for escape. I witnessed this young woman stumble on her path for many years before understanding what she truly valued - shared moments with those she loved. I looked on as she spent countless nights worrying about things that never happened. I was unable to intervene and reassure her that things would be fine; that she would find a way despite all the challenges she faced, real or imagined. Throughout this remarkable journey, there was one detail I could never remember. 

— Tell me, Ophelia, was it a concert or a dance?
— It was a concert.

The young woman wanted to continue on her path, and I wasn’t going to stop her. I told her that I would stay back as I had other places to be. Without hesitating, we hugged as we parted. She gave me all my love for seeing who she could become. I gave her all of mine, proud and grateful of her willingness to fight.

— I love what you have made of yourself. 

Her ear was pressed so close, I only needed to turn slightly and whisper.
— You’re doing so well.

She continued on her path along the river bed. I watched her pedal swiftly until the trail turned a corner behind some trees, where she disappeared from view. Only by staring at those immobile, majestic trees would I notice the frantic current of the river directly behind — always flowing in the same direction, never to return. I mounted my bike and turned back into the dense canopy of the forest, for there was something I suddenly wanted to do, which I hadn’t done in years.

Daniel Sumarto, March 2026

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