In all truthfulness, I am really starting to doubt if this path is the one that I ought to take.
Currently, I’m taking up engineering courses at my university, but I seem to always wonder if I would be happy when I finally become an engineer. Would all these be worth it in the end? I mean, I like all the numbers and maths and stuff, and I don’t really find it that hard –yet or at least now in my second year. Not to boast, but I’m kind-of-sort-of good at math, and I find my skills inclined to engineering. But there are really just some other things I love that I want to be actually doing in the near future.
Music. This must be the peak of my list. I’ve always wanted to make music, and I consistently sleep on the shit puddle of drool as a result from too much daydreaming about performing live with my band on the stage in front of millions of people. This may sound crazy, even too much, knowing the fact that my band hadn’t had any gigs since — let me exaggerate — the stone age. But the cliche is immortal — dream big and soar high — just as in John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’, ‘You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.’
Sadly, the music industry here in the country is not that booming (or I just don’t really know the truth because I don’t listen to much news on tv), which suggests a do-not-make-music-for-a-living thought. Although I really do wanna make music so badly, that I want to stick my face to my puddle of drool again to feel the euphoria of seeing myself with pure awesomeness rocking the stage.
Secondly, I have decided not so long ago, that I want to be a writer. I used to write sports articles in my elementary days for the school paper, and had also won an inter-school sports writing competition. I even can’t forget that one time I was being sent for another province to represent my school for the writing event. Despite those, I never really was serious about it back then. It was like, I just wrote ‘just because’. After reading a lot of material lately, especially young-adult novels, it occurred to me that I could be just as good as the authors nowadays. Okay, perhaps, not as good as the authors, but just that I could write stories well.
Yes, yes. The authors give me a lot of inspiration. Like, I now have this routine to really read books — I actually do have a lot of e-books stacked in my tablet — as often as possible. Applauses and hats off for them. However, at the same time, AUTHORS JUST SCREW ME UP (caps lock to magnify emotions). Their wit and brilliance just want to make me quit writing. Really. Everytime I finish one of their works of art, It’s like a diabolic voice out of thin air whispers something like ‘Oh my God, you’re thinking about writing again dumbass? I suggest you put down this goddamned book and stick your face again to that puddle of shit-smelling drool which you’re pretty remarkable at’.
Puzzles like these are just so endless and perpetual. I guess I’ll just have to continue living my life, do good, work hard, and find out where this road leads me. Anyway, I’ve got my God to drive me, and my expertise in daydreaming as my fuel.