I never pictured myself dreaming to pursue a career in arts, never mind the literacy world. I hated books ever since I was born, today remembering my eight year old self getting hysterical over the fact my mom forced me to read. And then came a day when reading became cool. Since all my friends were devoted bookworms it was only right for me to become one too. Despite hating to spend free time stumbling upon words I didn't understand, the satisfaction that came with my parents' pride and bragging rights was very tempting and so I pushed through the pain. I kept a list of all the books I read (which I'm continuing up until this day!) and generally focused more on the amount than actual reading. It wasn't something I enjoyed, until the ever so brilliant J.K Rowling rolled along.
Yes, it was no other than Harry Potter that turned my fake identity into a true book loving spirit. I might have been eleven at that time and the fashion for vampires was also at its finest. I realized the reason behind my prejudice was simply because I was reading the wrong genres. I never liked child told stories about little witches, nasty aunts and flying beds (some of my early lectures). It was always the teen stuff. Adventure, love and blood.
Ever since, books have played an important part in my life and I do believe some of them even shaped me to be who I am. And since they also happen to be the only true passion I have, it is obvious it would mean the world to me to pursue some sort of career in that aspect.
Despite loving literature, I never considered myself a good writer. I hated English and still do for the way they teach it. When I made the big transition from primary to secondary school, one of the questions on a personal quiz asked, ''Who do you want to be when you grow up.'' Absolutely mad about acting at that time, I considered this too quixotic to put down on a student profile. The first alternative that came to my mind was what my mom always repeated and encouraged; a Writer. It was practical seeing the next question regarded my life hero and Anne Frank is someone I've always admired. Too little did I know this tiny white lie will transform into a dead on real ambition.
My stories were kind of praised by the teachers and they seemed to discover me before I even got the chance to. And so the goal was set and for the past two years it has been absolutely clear what I want from life. But is it?
I finished school three days ago. One more year to go and the serious decision will have to be made. What's next? Editing is what I dream of but it's easier said than done. My parents aren't exactly supportive either, both arguing that I should follow my dreams but on the other hand do something that will guarantee a job! Being indecisive is apparently common at this age but I feel like I'm being placed at the edge of a cliff and none of the options secure a safe way out. I'm learning to take risks but not at such fast pace as I wish I did. I'm afraid of failure and want to decide according to what's best for me and my future, but how do I do this?
I kept telling myself not to stress out and that when time comes I'll know what to do. Books can be written as a hobby. I have an entire life of travel and adventures ahead of me. Yet this does not change the fact that I do worry. Every single day, the future seems to be my biggest anxiety and sometimes I struggle to handle it. I am aware this is normal but then why does it not feel like it is?
I look forward to the day I'll be able to remember my sixteen year old self, wishing to turn back time and tell her not to panic so much about life. But today, this is no comfort. Although ridiculous and maybe slightly selfish, sometimes I wish to wake up five years forward with a life already set out as if on a silver platter.
-K
