I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up because I was insecure of my own inability to live up to my expectations. The more I learned about myself, the more I had to unlearn and in this process of self-critical learning and unlearning, a free-spirited mind got trapped in the claustrophobic mind of a timid person. When you’re only a few months short of turning 18, you believe that life is a lucid dream, a conflicting illusion of what is and what will be.
Countless times I’ve misunderstood and misinterpreted my “calling” in life which brings me to the fundamental question, "Is there a purpose to life?"
I want to do everything and that’s where I get caught up. My words don’t form comprehensible sentences. I dumb it down and over-complicate the simplicity of being.
I hate it when I see oblivious, ignorant people because they look so happy with their one-dimensional approach to life but there is something that is so poetic about sadness that people keep dwindling in it and romanticize it maybe because sadness is the only emotion that is truly universal and is most often, self-inflicted. You can mask it, deny it and run away from it but it is embedded in each and every one of us, waiting to be triggered.
A lot of times, I am vain. I believe in “look good, feel good” and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it even though it’s somehow always attached negatively to a person. You need to bathe, shave, clothe yourself because all there is left outside of it is madness and suicide. I still get asked a lot about my future plans and I still haven’t figured it out. The reason is that I have been having the same battle with myself for 10 years now. I’m constantly drawn to new things and I keep leaving other things behind, incomplete. Currently, I’m crawling, hoping that I wouldn’t freeze in time with no sense of direction.
I keep saying that whatever is happening won't matter when I’ll be 38 with wrinkles and ungrateful children but who the f*ck knows what will matter and what won’t at 38. Hell, who knows if I’ll even make to 38. My friend’s sister did not even make it to her college graduation.
So when I know that life is short, why do I still keep making long-term plans?
As an only child, I was used to the attention. I need it at times to remind myself that I’m losing track of my path. I have always needed attention because there is no greater desire of the human heart than to be fundamentally understood. Coming back to the question of my future, I don’t know what I want, I don’t know if I’m fit for a corporate world or exquisite enough to work in a creative environment.
All I know is that I never want to be that old person who gets annoyed with loud music, bad food and the news. I want to be that person who is kind to everyone, who doesn’t abandon books half way and still believes that life is a lucid dream at 38.
I swear I’m not just saying all this because I re-read Marakumi and am pretentious. All of this is rising out of a burning desire to be understood and challenged. I feel deprived of intellectual and stimulating conversations.
It’s not a phase of life. It’a way of existence.