It Takes Time

Growing up, my dreams always changed. At first, I wanted to be a singer. I loved to sing. I thought I was pretty good, but then I realized that the singers I saw on television were all so beautiful and handsome. I, on the other hand, resembled a potato sack. When reality had set in, I slowly began weaning myself away from the idea of becoming a singer. My next goal was more practical, I was going to become a teacher. You didn't have to beautiful to be a teacher, and you can be good at teaching with the right education. Plus, it gave you a steady paycheck at the end of the month. This was it, my career goal. I didn't particularly like children, nor was I very good at school myself, but something about influencing a group of kids moved me. I tried to look for the positives in teaching, and sometimes I found them. It wasn't something that I loved, but could I love it? Could I spend most of my life doing it? Up until my junior year in high school, my answer to the question "What do you want to do after high school?" was "I want to be a teacher." But deep down inside, I had my doubts. It wasn't until I started my unhealthy obsession with reading that my dreams in life started to pivot. I became interested in writing. I would spend my free time writing poetry and fiction, but then ultimately end up deleting everything. I didn't think I was good enough, and was embarrassed to share any of my work. I was determined to keep writing though, I loved it. I may not have been good at writing, but I was willing to go to school and learn more about different writing techniques and literature. I had never been more sure about anything in life: I wanted to write. 

Then, when my mother fell sick, my goals in life changed. My father became inactive in my life during this time, so it was up to me and my siblings to take care of everything. I was fifteen at the time, and becoming a caretaker while going to school became so overwhelming. I stopped thinking about what I wanted to do after graduation. I didn't know how long life would be like this, taking care of an entire family. So, I just focused on the present. I couldn't go to college because my mother's health kept declining, but I never stopped writing. I would write whenever I got the chance, and would keep my work stashed away only for my eyes. Ten years later, when my mother passed away, I wrote something and read it in front of an audience for the first time. It was my mother's eulogy. The feedback I got from my family made my heart soar. In that instant, I knew I would continue writing even if I was bad at it. I loved it.