Friday, January 15, 2016

Is That a Hat?

Today, my dad asked me something that surprised me so much I had to make him repeat what he said. Never in my whole life was I asked such a question (from my parents), and it brought a deluge of nostalgia and longing inside me that I thought I was gonna cry right then and there.

"You stopped drawing, have you?" He asked without any malicious tone. He was simply asking me about my previous "hobby."

My face was blank, but inside me was a torrent of emotions that I have locked in the deepest part of my heart (or mind, or soul) threatening to burst out. I can't believe that after years of trying to fool myself into believing that I shouldn't waste my time doing things I have no business dabbling into - coz I'm a talentless wimp, thats why -  that a single random question could still hurt so much.

I swallowed. I said, "Yeah, I stopped. Years ago." Then I went inside my room.

In my bed, I thought of how I used to be. My child-like passion for everything beautiful. I used to draw bad drawings and think that they're world-class. I used to dream of playing the violin. I used to play with my keyboard all day long, making up my very own notes because I can't read musical sheets. I used to write stories. I used to learn about new words and foreign phrases just so I can use fait accompli when a situation calls for it - it's funny that I only get to use that phrase to describe my life. I used to lock myself up in my room and dream of foolish dreams that only dreamers could ever dream of. I used to read books and imagine myself doing exactly what the characters courageously did.

I wanted to shout and cry and tell my dad, "Yes! I have stopped doing that. For years! You just noticed now? I have stopped doing what I love. I have stopped drawing. I have stopped trying. I have stopped being a dreamer. I tried living normally. Whatever the fuck that means."

Yes. I grew up and got duped into living how society wanted me to live. And after years of wasting valuable time, I am just starting to open my eyes and realize how wrong I was. That this kind of "living" is not really living. At least not for me. The moment I forgot about my dreams, let my creative juices dry up to the last drop, the moment I decided to be a mechanized adult, was the moment I stopped living.

I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could time-travel so my present-me could tell my past-me to never fall into the abyss and forget about my soul.

I wish.

But, it's never too late. Life begins at 30.

I could still start fresh. I may be lagging behind, but it's never too late to choose another fork and run in that direction.

Never travel in a road that has been paved for others. Create your own path. Hack at those weeds in front of you and just make your own road. Whether it's the road less traveled or god knows what, just make sure it's your own decision and not something dictated upon you.

Also, never stop re-reading The Little Prince.

Never forget your dreams. Be who you really wanna be. Live.

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