A painter puts life in each minute dot in his masterpieces. A singer does it by hitting the right notes in every song. A dancer expresses elegance through his carefully executed moves. A writer reflects himself through writing.
I can paint but I cannot see an emerging life in my so-called work of arts. I am neither a singer nor a dancer. I am a writer.
I found myself amidst the ocean of confusion, nearly swallowed alive by the cruel people’s expectations. The maze that surrounds me seems to turn more complicated that there is no hope left to see the long-cherished light.
They have dictated how I have to live my life. They have laid down the script to be followed so the show will go on smoothly. They have taken away the valued freedom that defines my existence.
Sensitive and vulnerable to comments and criticisms, I prioritized their choices rather than mine. I am emotionally incapable of combating pressures and other hardships I have to surpass. Yet with my weakness buds a stronger man, ready to break the chains that hindered me for the past. I am now prepared to cross the current, even it flows with force. I am willing to soar high, even my wings are broken.
People always ask me why I left B.S. Architecture, the field where they envision me to be. I am perplexed so many times when they insist that I wasted my opportunity to become a great architect because I was actually in the prestigious list. The questions mushroom as fast as raindrops fall when it rains. And as much as I would like to end their talks, they would not just understand my answer.
One philosopher said that there is no map that will show the road to success. That is why I want to create it myself. I want to follow my heart, lift everything to Him and soon I will have my own happiness.
Never again will I allow others to take the driving wheels from my hands. With firm convictions, I have to show the condemnatory crowd that no one can live my life for me. Once I was lost in the darkness, dragged in the quicksand of hopes that sucks my feet deeper. I have been wandering in the vast dry desert to search for an oasis, in a labyrinth where numerous doors are offered; I just do not know the right one to pick. Life is a continuous search for happiness and I finally found it.
The next time people would ask why I wanted a degree in Communication/Journalism, I would just flash a smile, stand proud, look them in the eyes and leave. They will see the joy I have obtained, slowly blooming in my once uncertain life.
Experiences have taught me that no amount of happiness can exceed that which is the product of choice. They may succeed by telling I cannot do it, but they will never know how fulfilling it is just by trying it.
Still, I will build castles in the air, indulge myself in prolific reveries, create my own characters, write my script of life and enjoy the opportunity as my pen dances to build words that will last.
I will not become an infamous architect and design grand and luxurious structures or a painter who will sell his pieces for soaring prices. It is impossible that I will be a popular dancer and singer. But I am much content and do not bear regrets that I decided to grab my pen and become a writer.
