Dec 31st 2021
I woke up at 6am today, which is a miracle.
It used to be my habit, when there was such beautiful potential blossoming under the morning dew.
It used to be my dream. And I used to have reached it. To wake up before the sun and be excited about what lies ahead.
Under a dim light amid darkness, I would screw in the old pen nib and write my heart out. My buzzing thoughts echoed through the silent room, in the sounds of scratching metal tip against rough paper.
I used to think- well, I might keep this up day by day until I kick the bucket! Was it a scary thought? Not really. Not when I could be happy and fulfilled every single day I lived!
But when Death failed to terrorise me, Life came forth with a mean right hook.
I was plunged into the world of academia, where I bore witness to its own brand of beautiful potential, as well as the sharp blades underneath silky curtains.
It’s less about the people but more of the field itself, to be fair. I was never a science person, and more an artistic one- if that is not already apparent. Though, I would not go so far as to say I regret coming here. For one, if I had never left my comfort zone, I would never have met Terrance Glass. And the inspiration and knowledge provided by the institution were more than I could ask for.
Nonetheless, my days became duller with tasks that failed to pique my interest. My secret projects were to be postponed because of the packed schedule. My morning became brighter because I woke up later and later. Without proper notice, a year had passed.
Occasionally, over the course of a merciless river called Time, I murmured to myself, “almost there! Just suck it up and endure to the end!” And I endured.
Finally, with the last thesis finished, the panic set in. The notion of abandoning writing- even of just putting it at a lesser priority- carries a grim fog of foreboding. What does it mean when your passion is the lesser priority? It would mean your hands and mind will often be at separate places. On the main job, you’re yearning for the tasks to be over- to take care of that “lesser priority”. And when you- at long last- sit before it, a depressing thought sinks in; in the little time you can muster, your dreamed up secret project never actually builts up to anything.
That is why- I broke away. One year is what I give myself. If I could not make it with my craft, I would have to return to this place. It might exhaust my mind and soul, but at least I’d have an anchor.
…
No. I will not let that happen. Haven’t I plowed through Life’s cruelty and maleficence and survived to this day? What is putting everything I’ve worked for at the stake compared to the vast universe?
Terrance said I am often a mild person. But this is my biggest conviction he has seen yet.
