I thought I’d be dead by now. I didn’t think I’d make it to thirty so I didn’t plan out my life. I‘ve taken dead-end jobs for a decade now, clocking in and out like the Groundhog might choose to come up on Groundhog Day, but there’s no spring at 8am or 5pm. It’s only misery and cold coffee, talking around a water cooler like gazelle that will be murdered in cold blood by lions momentarily.

I think I want to be a lawyer but I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m smart enough, if I can hack it. Today I sat at my desk and snapped a rubber band on my wrist. I took a phone call and contemplated existence. Is this it? Should I bother to live?

I want some initiative, I’ve decided. I need to move on from this boring, pointless existence. Remember at the county fair, when you could guess how many jelly beans were in the glass jar? That’s like my ability to point out my happy moments. Maybe there’s a thousand but I wouldn’t know, I didn’t even try to guess. I’ve lost before I started.

I guess in the future, I want to know I’m capable. Capable of learning, of not just writing crappy poetry. Capable of growth, deserving of love.

I want to wake up and want to live. To fully experience life, because there’s got to be more to it than this.

I gave up on having hope for the future a couple of years back.

My parents had just sentenced me to five years of studying one of the courses I hated the most; law. I had a dream university, I had a course in mind that I hoped would be good enough to satisfy their needs. They refused me. They gave me what they called "choice" between Accounting, Economics and Law. All of which I hated. And then my sentence was done.

It took me time to try and let go of my rage, not that it's fully gone and even more time to let myself have hope again. You see, before university rolled along, I worked hard as others have to do perfectly well in school. I got good grades, I think. I tried to. I did my very best because I wanted to please them. I thought after all those years of doing things for them, they would easily allow me to choose my version of compromise where I hadn't exactly thought about whether I wanted it or not but felt at least they would be happy. I never once thought of what I truly wanted for myself, back then. Such a lost child.

But this experience was important. Very much so. Because of what happened, I lost the ability to hope for a while. I realised I had no choice. And then, later on, I realised the only way to truly have a choice was to free myself from the shackles I had put myself in in the hopes of getting their love and affection. I let it all go. I let go of their hopes and dreams and plans for me. I set myself free and I continue to till today.

So if you ask me what I want? It's funny because I only realised it this year. Very recently. I want to have a job where I am surrounded by books. I want to work on a library. Or bookshop but I'd prefer a library, a really big one. Books have been a safe haven for me since I was a little one and even now, the scent of old paper still brings me overwhelming comfort. I suppose I have Enid Blyton to thank for drawing me into this interest of mine in the first place. This is my dream. Otherwise, I'd love to teach literature to younger people, maybe. Only because my own literature teachers in school were one of the few things that made those horrible years better. Every book a new adventure to dive into together and learn from.

As for accomplishments? First, I would really appreciate if my mental health and messy self love journey got me to a good, peaceful place. That would be really great. I also hope to write more and more and not stop till I'm dead. I'm not sure why. I guess it's just a calling I have. It makes me happy, just like reading makes me happy and I'd like to hope I've made people feel things with my attempts at capturing scenes as they flow into my head.

I hope to be independent, away from my parents and my family and all the judgement I have put upon myself, away from the pressure I once felt so strongly. I want to live in an apartment with bright white walls and windows I can see the sky through. I want to have plants and maybe even a pet or two some day, if my inherited fear of animals (thanks a lot pop) manages to wither away with time.

I hope I am happy. Like I said, I didn't want to let myself have hope for a long long time. It felt stupid to me. Pointless. But if the thought of a better life makes me smile, whether it is fiction or not, whether it will happen or not, isn't it worth it? I've lied to myself many times. But hope isn't lying, not really. Sometimes it's just better to believe. It's like books for me. Reality is cold, fantasy and dreams are a blanket.

May a safe, free, happy life await us all. Perhaps if I lean into faith, trust and pixie dust enough, I might just make it happen. Anything's possible, right? If you believe it.