Tuesday, August 2, 2016

When you think the signs aren't clear but they've been in front of you all along


A long title, I know, but I really didn't know how else to explain the feeling. You know, where you're unsure of a decision but sure at the same time. Or maybe it's just me. 

Anyway, I'm attending a different college now, at last minute, but everything seems to have worked out in a weirdly perfect way. I decided to try out nursing, see how it goes, and when I first applied to this college, I thought, "how will I afford this and how can I get into these programs?" 

Somehow, someway, I managed to get the last spot in a scholarship program, and the last spot in the nursing program. I don't think either was a coincidence; it was fate. I was undeclared at first, but my academic counselor encouraged me to try and see if there were still spots to get into the nursing program if that's what I really want to try. So, I called the admissions, and by some miracle, the last spot was given to me. 

I was unsure about my future until that moment, because it's like something is pushing more toward this direction, letting me know that it's the right one. Life is funny like that. One way or another, the right opportunities seem to magically fall on your lap. 

Meanwhile, I've been writing a lot. When I say a lot, I mean a LOT. I think my average is increasing from 20 pages a day. But I cannot say that all I've been writing are serious pursuits that I want to publish one day; in fact, most of what I'm writing is just for fun. That's the joy of it of all, though. I don't care about the success that could come out of these silly stories, they're just entertaining. Plus, it's a good warm-up for the serious stuff. I think that's how you know you're truly passionate about something; you don't do it for the money or fame, but because you just like to do it. I must say, however, there's a difference between the selfish and selfless passion, and I've realized that writing is my selfish passion. Sure, I'd love to inspire someone with my stories, perhaps, but I don't really care to rush the sharing. I've realized why: I write because it makes me happy, it entertains me, it captivates me. It's not a bad thing, most of the time. 

Getting sucked into stories has a way of making you forget that real people and real places exist. 
That's the danger. 

I think that's why I got so into books when I was ten years old; I wanted to escape to a world that was better than this one. I still do. Watching the news depresses me and makes me think maybe there isn't hope for this world. When I write, I can construct a story that has a happy ending; I can create an ideal world filled with hope and love and joy––a reflection of everything I hope to see in this life so it can stop being a silly dream written on paper. 

That's the answer––in front of me all along: make the dream come true.