05-01-2023 00:18

I remember watching Devil Wears Prada and thinking, "Ah! You can learn any work on job and then can figure things out in the way?" I remember watching Romance Is A Bonus Book and feeling reassured that if you have some skills and a wish to learn, you can make it. 

I thought things were that simple. So when I left my permanent boring backend job and refused another backend job paid double, I thought I can figure things out and finally get to a job that can make me happy. Well... I don't think it's that simple anymore. 

When I was young, I always wanted to be a writer. The first name of this blog was also, "Just A Wannabe Writer". Someone fed me with a lot of useless boast saying, "why do call yourself a wannabe? You write so well. You'll be a writer in no time." This year marks the 9th year since that sentence was said to me. Guess what? I am still not a writer. But as sad as that sounds, I have accepted the truth. I do not have the aptitude to be a writer. But I always wanted to be a part of publishing industry. So when I got the chance to start again, I wanted to be someone who can help writers like me. Someone who can find people like me who truly want to tell their stories their own way. And then... I applied for editorial internships. Haha. I never heard back.

When I was young, I thought I could be anything. I wanted to be a lawyer so I could help innocent people. I wanted to be a teacher so I can help children like me who couldn't fit it or have to go face to face with their traumas every day. And then I wanted to be a reporter to tell people the truth of the world. Then a writer and then finally, I realized I can be nothing so I should just try to be happy.

I failed miserably. My poems are always sad. Someone told me to publish them but I don't even know how to get it noticed. I thought of self publishing but I don't have any audience. I think of so many things and I can do nothing. I am miserable because that's just how I am.

Once upon a time in my life, I just wanted people to smile when they read my writings. And then I couldn't smile writing them. I can only write when I am overwhelmed with sadness and I think somewhere it's a good thing I am not a writer. Else, I will torture myself to write something every single day. 

I often look back at my childhood and I don't know what the hell I was doing back then. I was above average at everything but perfect at none. I was proud of it back then but now I know the meaning of why my teacher's "you are okay at everything" stung so much. It was because I belonged to no place. I was everywhere but nowhere complete. I still don't know how to be.

"Aspiration is stupid. You will die at the end so why does what you wanna be in life matters?" If it doesn't why do I keep questioning myself? Why am I not content with just earning and then enjoying weekends? Why did I seek success and popularity from my writing? I still can't figure things out. And sadly, I don't even know how to. I don't even know how to end this post. But I guess it's okay.

킅.