I guess I should be honest, but until this day, I've always known what I've wanted to do. Write books, sell books, my whole life would be piles upon piles of unspoken literatures, my questions - normally beyond anybody's comprehension - would be out in the open for debate and the words of what I felt was righteous would be there for the entire world to read.
But it seems right now I can't quite settle with what I want to do.
I know it will involve writing - somehow. In whatever shape or form, because it's not just a pass time of mine, but a pure passion - like a partner, I suppose: trusty, loyal, and always there to fall back on when times get hard. There's no doubt in my mind that whatever I write would be able to make it somewhere within this big ol' world, but it doesn't necessarily mean that it will. I've found that I quite like the simplicity of secrecy - how easy it is to keep writing to myself. So that it stays as mine. My personal haven. My get-away when reality gets too sharp for me to keep my hand on the blade any longer. It's mine, and nobody can take it... but would publishing it to the public change that?
I mean, wouldn't that make people aware of the magic that one's mind can create if they try hard enough to escape the gripping suffocation of reality? Or would it show people that this world is existent as long as they envision it well enough? Or would it even do anything?
The last thought scares me slightly - writing is far too important to me for my writing to make no impact on other's lives whatsoever; it should be empowering, perhaps even compelling at times, and lure a reader to attempt new things and open their minds to the world's vast sea of opportunity. Being a fairly pessimistic person myself, I know how hard it can be to believe that things will get better, especially if things have been swerving in the direction of worse so long... but I often find the strength to pull myself back before the thoughts get so daunting it's almost hard to breathe. However, other people have weaker will-power, some have weaker will to pick themselves up... and I truly believe that writing - any writing - is a tool for people to use to their advantage in order to brighten their scope of perception a little.
School is often an instigator of such thoughts: uncertainty. Not knowing what you want to do in the world and not even being sure if you have a place in the world. It's sometimes hard to believe you can fit somewhere, though I firmly believe that everybody belongs somewhere, wherever that place may be. If God does exist (I personally am an agnostic girl myself, and am not sure what to make of religion as a whole) I'm sure he didn't make people so that they could wallow alone in their own self-pity and sense of unfulfillment. And even without the guy-in-the-sky to consider, people are here to create, to influence and to discover - it shouldn't be an option of anybody's to be lonely for eternity.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I may have lost my way a little. I am unsure of what media I would like to write. I'll tell you something: I had to pick up my little brother, Kyle (7) from school; his school is where I used to go myself, Normanton Common Primary School. My little brother, happy as could be, was showing me through his folders of work and I struck conversation with a long-forgotten teacher. She asked me about my career path and my college choices...
And I stood there in silence.
The silence was daunting, constricting and really made me think hard about my future. What is my career path? And what about my college options? Before I was so sure - so sure - that I would select English-central courses and progress from there... but perhaps, as possibly-arrogant as it is to think, I don't need to focus on English so much since I am already so strong in it. Perhaps I could direct my attentions where I am weaker, or not as informed, and channel energy to there instead, so that I have multiple ways to go in life. Maybe that would be good for me? I'm not sure... I laid back and thought it over for days. Night was never long enough for me to contemplate everything that was going on in my mind - ever had that feeling where there's a million and one things going round in your mind and you just don't know what to think about first? My nights were like that for a good couple of weeks - I told nobody, just hung my head and grew despondent, snappy even.
It tampered with my thoughts... it still does, though the feeling of being overwhelmed is nowhere near as strong as it was before; before, it was like a wave of disappointment, a tsunami of self-pity and grief, a pit of no clarity. And I didn't know what to think.
School and I have a love-hate relationship. It has caused me many many problems in the course of this world, what with the bullies and the harsh words and the discouraging vibe from the other people there, but also a torrent of joy: discovering, learning limits and potential in myself, rather than listening to somebody tell me what I could achieve if I tried hard enough. So why were my many years of discovering turning so sharply against me?
Critiquing had been in my mind for a while as possible career option... as had journalism. Whenever I tell somebody that I wouldn't mind becoming a journalist, they laugh and tell me that I'm a "dreamer" or have a "imaginative frame of mind" - or they just look at me like I have two heads and snigger. But... why?
I suppose what I learnt from this whole thing was that it doesn't matter how sure you think you are: there is always more to consider. More options to balance out and think through. Differing paths to attempt to walk down before you can safely say that left was better than right.
I suggest it's about knowing what to do with yourself.
I guess it's about clarity and discovering yourself slowly.
I suppose it's just...
Living.~
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