Friday, April 28, 2006


Lately I've begun to feel the pressure that comes with reaching the end of anything that you get into expecting a return on your investment, viz. my architecture course. When I look around at all my erstwhile (*sigh*) classmates and see how far they've gotten in life, I always sense this overbearing and overwhelming shame. I turn around to look at what I've accomplished and I find zilch. I put in so little and get so much. Why can I not put in enough to get more?
The saddest part is the potential I have. I'm not being vain when I say I can do anything I want. Really I'm not. I have found; and have been told; that everything I do, I do well, or not at all. Being a perfectionist is a drag. And I'm not a quitter, just unconcerned.
The greatest obstacle in the way of me achieving my dreams seems to be the fact that I really have no dreams. At least none that are well defined and constant. All I have are vague hopes - obscure daydreams that only tell me that I want to be happy; that I want to be loved. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. (that man will be quoted till the end of time)
My view in life seems to be one of "Hey, if it doesn't fall into my lap, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it anyway." I got through most of my school years simply cruising on my retentive powers and attention span. Now suddenly I'm nearing the end of my course, a course that I chose in the face of everything I was ever held to be good at - english and logic and maths and science; the choosing of which confused my classmates, puzzled my teachers and worried my mother. And here I am, realizing that I'm doing exactly the same thing here, and I'm still doing well. I find it so hard to find one thing that I am both good at and love doing. The only thing that comes close is wasting time, and there is neither honour nor glory in that.
How much I admire those who know, right from the start, what they're going to be doing the rest of their life. How much I envy those who choose professions regardless of their personal interests, because it gets them what they want. How badly I want to be able to do something I'm good at, that I love to do, that will teach me something new every day for the rest of my life. How much I wish I could find out what that is.
I'm nearing the point in my life when I'll have to say those four awful, painful words -
My mother was right.

I criticize and correct and analyse, and I still can't fix me.
If I can't, then who will?

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