It started again. The consuming thing slowly creeped into my brain. It took whatever it could from the little hands of my soul. Explain.
Sure, today, the first day of class, people talked about what they want to be and so on. they rummaged about their dreams. they kept talking about how passionate they are in what they do. but, what hurt me the most was different. I felt like I cannot get up yet. I feel trapped and most importantly, a little snail carrying the heaviest burden on my head. emptiness.
Where do you see yourself in 10 years? think about that, said the professor. I couldn’t. I don’t see myself in tomorrow, how can I imagine such a destination? ten years later. where would you want to be, professor insisted. Maybe, I would like to be a writer. and that’s all.
yet for that, one must write. even more, one must continue to do so as hard as possible, as free as possible. i know I must write and that will be the only thing in my future career options that would make me happy. I don’t see any point in becoming a lawyer or some other thick- eyebrowned- jobs. They are cool, for sure, and at school, everybody adores becoming a lawyer. they treat this ability, of having such an identity, as if, its dream makes them as they are, perfect?
Why don’t I write then? Why do I keep torturing myself? Why can’t I hold my own hands and come to an agreement that this life, as it is with all its nonsense, has to continue?
Myshkin Thoughts 