What was I made for?
I stared into the mirror, my reflection questioning back at me: "What am I going to do with my life?"
Since childhood, certain passions have always lingered within me—reading, drawing, Pokémon, and the mysteries of space and the universe. As time passed, I realized that, in essence, not much has changed. I still devour every piece of literature I can find, absorbing its meaning on deeper levels than before. This love for words and their weight has even turned me into a writer myself.
My love for drawing remains strong, an outlet for expressing my emotions. Through colors, styles, and composition, I’ve found a way to speak without words, a way to create my world on paper. At fifteen, I still adore Pokémon, not just for the nostalgia but for its endless creativity, its variety of worlds and creatures. It’s a concept that continues to fascinate me.
Then there’s space—the universe itself—its vastness, its mysteries, the science that attempts to make sense of it all. Astronomy has always felt like it held a secret, something otherworldly that I’ve longed to understand.
Throughout my life, I’ve dreamed of many careers. I imagined myself as a chef, an artist, a mangaka, a doctor, a psychiatrist, an astronaut, and even an astrophysicist. Of them all, the dream of becoming an astrophysicist still calls to me the loudest. Is it unrealistic? Maybe. But it’s what I’ve always wanted, to explore the cosmos and unlock its secrets.
But then there’s another voice, quieter but persistent: "Help people."
I’ve always wished I could have saved them, the people I care about. That’s why the idea of becoming a doctor or psychiatrist sounds appealing. It’s not just about chasing dreams, but about making a difference, being selfless in a world that often asks for so much.
Help people. Isn’t that enough of a purpose?
