The Writer

When I was fifteen, I said to my mother: "I've discovered my vocation. I want to
be a writer."

"My dear," she replied sadly, "your father is an engineer. He's a logical, reasonable man with a very clear vision of the world. Do you actually know what it means to be a writer?"

"Being someone who writes books."

"Your Uncle Haroldo, who is a doctor also writes books, and has even published some. If you study engineering, you can always write in your spare time."

"No, Mama. I want to be a writer, not an engineer who writes books."

"But have you ever met a writer? Have you ever seen a writer?"

"Never. Only in photographs."

"So how can you possibly want to be a writer if you don't really know what it means?"

In order to answer my mother's question, I decided to do some research. This is what I
learned about what being a writer meant in the early 1960s:

(a) A writer always wears glasses and never combs his hair. Half the time he feels angry
about everything and the other half depressed. He spends most of his life in bars, arguing with other dishevelled, bespectacled writers. He say very 'deep' things. He always has amazing ideas for the plot of his next novel, and hates the one he has just published.

........... Paulo Coelho

When I was 21, I said to myself: "I think I've discovered my vocation. I want to be a writer."

"My dear," I replied sadly, "You're a logical and an analytical man without a very clear vision of the world. And besides, each time you think you're able to write, there's ten other writers who are 10 times better than you."

"You're right. Then tell me exactly what I should do."

"You could be a Crime Scene Investigator. Or a lawyer. Or a teacher. Or a counsellor. Or... To be honest, I'm not too sure myself."

There was a long pause.

"If you study engineering, you can always write in your spare time. Volunteer during your spare time. And when you're slightly older, you could join the Police Force. And when you're much much older, you can teach."

"But.... I guess I could study engineering, and simply go where the yellow brick road takes me."

Flying free

Again, it's funny how something i wrote 9 days ago feels soo recent.

Yesterday marked the last day of work. It also marked the beginning of my holiday - or so i hope. Never had I felt so pressured in my life and the past couple of weeks did seem, at times, a tad too much for me to handle. But thank God I passed the test I set myself out to do.

A challenging part-time job was what i sought as soon as my exams were over. But i never expected to be too mentally exhausted from it all. I noticed that there came a point when things became too much for the brain to handle and if I had decided to push myself abit more, things will get ugly. However, talking to lovely people help diffused whatever that was affecting me. Am thankful to have few whom were willing to listen. Not forgetting the lingering impression too.

So yesterday, I left office feeling happy and relieved. I walked along the street smiling from ear to ear -- like a bird flying free (if birds could smile). For a moment though, I felt sad knowing that my dad didnt had the luxury to fly free. If I was exhausted doing what I do -- day in, day out, week in, week out, I am sure he was at least thrice as exhausted as I was. Oh wells, school's starting in 3 weeks and I really pray that the sister get tt permanent job and make ends meet at least until I graduate in 3 years time, insyaallah.

And on a separate note, i wonder if i can ever shed this new serious boring image of mine....

Linger

Didnt realize that 22 days have lapsed since my last entry as my last entry felt so recent. It also means that im that closer to the start of school. Ive had my fair share of work to keep me occupied -- lately more than my fair share -- but it was a welcomed challenge.

As much as I hate being in a pressure-cooker environment, it's the only way to improve how I deal with pressure...... and distractions.

The sweet impression still lingers. I'm not surprised. And while i know, and have been told countless of times, that nothing will happen if nothing is done, a part of me tells me to give it some time. But how much time, I do not know.

Do i want to let this sweet impression pass me by? A large part of me seems to refuse to let the sweet impression be on her way. Either that, or she simply chose to linger.

While it is easy to strike a conversation with unknown strangers during a game of Yahoo! Pool, it's totally the opposite when it comes to striking a conversation with known strangers over Facebook. While it's easy to simply leave the brain outside while typing a message saying a simple hi, it is almost impossible for a guy like me to do so.

Dozens of possible consequences appears in my mind whenever I contemplate to think without my brain.

If you try and fail, you end up a fool. If you do not try, you end up a fool -- perhaps a bigger one. Or should I be patient and not let my emotions cloud my better judgment...

"But im in so deep. You know im such a fool for you." ~ Linger, The Cranberries