WARNING: Serious stuffs below.
I’ll never claim to have an organized mind so it may come as no surprise that I still can’t sort out what to scratch about next. I find that it helps to amble aimlessly until I scan on some interesting bit as I breeze by the internal mental landscape of my head. Here goes.
Being young and having the means at the ready to be almost anything you want to be is, at it’s core, a depressing state. Oh, why I’m fortunate but even then life isn’t a field of daisies. It’s almost another year and I’m not at the least anxious in awaiting my A Levels results, it can’t be good. What do I want to be when I grow up? Am I grown up? Age is no definite marker in maturity but I believe I’m almost there. I’m good with my hands. I’m my family’s masseuse and I’m constantly being told by a few members and some friends that I would do very well professionally.
I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot but certain persons don’t think it suitable for me. I have to play to my strengths and consider advice as it comes my way. I’m beginning to even bore myself here with all this dreary talk of my future, but it is what it is. I want to have a little book shop on the side whilst teaching English, eventually as a foreign language. I want to have a tight group of friends who’ll love the person I am despite my earthen scale of faults. Perhaps I watch Friends too much.
I want to lean about people first hand and not only from the internet whose sources tend to be dubious half of the time. Not only that, from such a distance the courage of living despite the crap hand that’s dealt, is something I have to experience in person. I might be setting up myself for a world of hurt but it’s not like I could avoid it al together. I am aware of the hardships of life from afar and as much as it will pain me, I want to immerse myself in the lives of those, who hail from different stations, so I can help in some small way of mine to make their days better.
I want to witness the re-making of broken people, to see that strength take root after so many days of darkness and despair. That transformation, it is the proof of hope. That four letter word I’ve come to attached consciously to over the past two years is such a beautiful thing. But then not everyone can get up after being pushed down. This existence is a two sided coin, no matter from what angle you look at it.
Bookshops are no longer a profitable business, and though I’m not in for the money it’s the entity that’ll will need it. People are bastards at best, including myself, letting people they care about down and realizing that it make me touchy, almost a cynic. I want to trust people, to have real friends. Life is about risks and falling and standing up again. It sucks but I want … I want so much out of living and I want to also give, I wouldn’t settle to simply exist. For now I’m biding my time, making baby steps that will in time embolden me to grasp my tomorrow with both hands so that I may stroke and shape it with firmer fingers and a decisive touch.
Our individual pockets of reality converge to this massive, ever changing, complex world where we think we don’t always have a choice but it’s there, ours for the taking if we can work out the nuances of our master plans. Am I being overly optimistic? Nah, I’m but a part cynic who has yet to outgrow hope.
It’s said that “When you look at a field of dandelions, you can either see a hundred weeds or a hundred wishes.” The way I see it, it’s a bit of both.