[Warning: This is TEXT HEAVY. I didn’t want to put so much photos because I believe it’s better to read this in a flow]
Many times in the recent past I found myself crumpling every piece of paper after a seemingly perfect paragraph has been written. I still do until now. Difference is, today, the amount of papers I throw away in regret decrease in drastic amounts; as if I’m reaching that masterpiece I’ve been trying to write my whole life: my life, actually.
It convinces me to think, that somehow, each one of us, at some point in our lives, arrive at that moment where we lose the will to put a dot at the end of a paragraph; or suddenly find ourselves unable to the find the next best word to complete the sentence that will complete the paragraph. Eventually we realize the piece is hopeless; and it lacks ideas and life. We lose the will to go on, we lose the dreams of finishing them. I believe the same happens with life. In fact, it happens to me every day. To be quite honest, I don’t know what I really want to write anymore – I don’t know what I want to do with my life.
In college, some of us, may have taken the majors we chose ourselves; thereby primarily choosing our future ourselves. We choose to spend four years or more perfecting a craft, because we have dreams and those crafts are the ones that will form the realizations of those visions. Some of us, might not have been able to choose their own lives, and had it pre-determined by a more superior force – our parents. But still, a choice is not a choice made without a reason. It might have not been your own design, but there exists a design, although not yours. Some, may have chosen to take a path, hoping that along the way, another road will spring – and more avenues may open. However, most of us, I believe, because I experienced it myself, find so many roads opening at what we thought was the end of the journey. We end up confused, and we ask ourselves, “Are there really more journeys to take? If so, which one should I take?”
I had, have so many dreams – but none of them have been realized yet. Not because I’m not taking a step; to be quite honest, I honestly think I walk too fast for comfort. But because for every rapid step I take, there’s this lingering thought at the back of my head if the steps I’m taking are actually the right ones, or the ones that take me away to my real destination. But then again, I ask myself, too, “Which one is the real destination, anyway?” And since there was no answer, I walked and walked, sometimes ran, moving further and further away, chasing things I wasn’t sure of if worth chasing. Originally, I wanted to become a newspaper journalist. Of course, that was the default goal for someone with a Journalism major. But exposure to the real world made me realize I wasn’t cut for the darkness that engulfed that world I once dreamt of. Then I wanted to become a professor – because I wanted to teach future mes to open their eyes and see whether they, as well, weren’t cut, or maybe cut for the world we all wanted to be in. But then I realized, it was a profession that required great amounts of sacrifices. I was never a selfless person. How sure was I wanted to help my future students, not push my ideas unto them? Then I wanted to become a travel writer. I wanted to become one, because of my own selfish desires to see the world. And the selfless part of me to share the world with everyone else using the best tool I had: my writing. But several unfortunate circumstances told me it wasn’t for me. So I gave up. Then I went back to my old dream: to pursue creative writing. For days, I tried to train myself to write as if my life depended on it literally. Come to think of it, my life always depended on writing. But sometime in the middle of re-discovering myself, I realized, writing really was my life. And you don’t force yourself to live your life; I can’t force myself to write because I wanted to earn. Stupid as it may sound, my most wonderful and heart-warming pieces were written without any expectation for monetary benefits at the end. And no, I never looked at creative writing as my bank account. I just couldn’t force myself to squeeze the words out of my soul for some bucks. I write best when it’s sincere – and when it’s for the people I love.
So I found myself in the middle of nowhere – lost. Still amazing, but without dreams. Until I found a new flame to write another chapter again.
I can’t chronicle it enough, because I’m not ready to disclose how it came to this. But it happened, and I’m sure it will happen to everyone who’s also amazing, but without dreams as of the moment. A day came when I shut down the world, and I searched myself again; and I searched every little depth of my being, including ones long forgotten. What were those things I loved to do before as I child? Those things that put simple, but genuine smiles on my face? Those long, forgotten potentials? Those long, forgotten dreams? Maybe in the past, in the depths of my untouched being, there were answers. And I think I found them.
I remembered that ever since I was a child, I always loved to draw. And I think I was blessed enough to be given hands that could actually create. The pictures, surely enough, had charms in them just like my words right now. I had a collection of portraits before, and even colorful, childish pictures my mom kept because she was proud. I remembered my sketches were depictions of what I would write right now; same topics, same feel – different methods. Even back then, I always had a voice. Although that voice was more visual, unlike today’s voice. Like puzzle pieces, I put everything together – the old me, the present me. The forgotten me, and the me right now. And added a special element from outside. And I got another answer.
Currently, I am pursuing fashion courses as associate courses to my current degree. I am exploring all areas: design, styling, and media. But the best thing I have in mind right now, is to explore fashion editorial styling, and fashion journalism.
Writers have writers’ block, fashion designers, also have their moments. There are also times when every illustration does not satisfy any sense, and each sheet of sketch ends up crumpled as well. But if writers keep writing, designers keep designing and sketching. Life is like that, too. Sometimes, it will also help if you check the crumpled papers you threw away – because no ideas, just like dreams, are useless and trash. There are hidden treasures in each of them. And little signs. Just like how months before when I was lost, I almost got in as an editorial assistant for a famous fashion magazine. But during that time, unfortunately, I wasn’t sure of myself yet, so I didn’t get it. But now I believe, there was a reason why I almost made it there during that dark period. It was a glimpse of my way out.
To be honest, not, I’m not so sure yet of all of these – what I’m doing right now. But who can tell me to stop, when I’m clearly happy, happier right now? And I feel like I’m really going somewhere? And honestly, do you really have to know where you’re going? Can’t you just keep on travelling until you find it?