I am the kind of person who’s addicted to chasing after ideas that pop in my head for, basically, like every minute of the day.
Perhaps, the reason why my range of interests cuts across a whole spectrum of topics/concepts/activities (except Math. I hate Math. I still use my fingers when I count) can be accounted for: 1) having a pretty diverse conversations over dinner with academic-oriented and ridiculously-talented family members; 2) spending way too much time watching TV and movies while growing up; 3) reading fiction novels; 4) listening to the radio before I go to sleep; and 5) my all-too-active imagination that could lead to an aneurysm or something.
I am facing yet another chapter of my life unfolding right before my eyes–from a pretty stupid three-year-old who cannot even spell her last name correctly, who can’t speak a decent sentence in English without being ridiculed for lack of good pronunciation skills and proper grammar, whose name belonged on the lower percentile of the class all throughout her formative years–it is with great disbelief to announce that I, Cole, blabber of The Cole Walkabouts, is now a master’s degree holder (take that, red marks in Math!).
The reality of it all has barely sunk in that it all just leaves me in the grey and endure the excruciating process of figuring out where and when shall I take the next step (I wanted to say big leap, but decided against it because that would be lie). And even as I sign my CV and application forms with academic degrees to my name, the even greater shock of all–is I am back where I was four years ago, when I graduated from college–clueless, flat and obnoxiously idealistic. The only difference is now, I can tell my fresh-grad-self “You are so screwed”.
Now that I have scratched off the surface of the highs and lows of reality and braved the jungle called Trying-To-Make-It-In-This-World–well, barely–I have come to realize that while dreams are the driving force that fuel our souls to continue on in the race called life (whether to chase on them or run to the opposite direction), there are not exactly the endgame of it all. There isn’t exactly a finish line. In fact, there is never even a race to begin with.
I thought that I will feel good about myself if I get ahead of my contemporaries and tried so hard to do so. But since I feel like I am Made in China–of low quality and a mediocre addition to the pool of wannabes and knocks-offs, as proven by an overwhelming series of getting rejected at quality control of employment and education opportunities–the frustration, the constant validation I seek from other’s point-of-view broke down my wheel. And here I am, a hollow shell of a supposedly-promising-navigator that never learned how to ride a bike and compensates it with a driver’s license that has never even been out to be used within a kilometer-radius.
I am mad at myself for trying to cheat on growing up by pretty much self-sabotaging childhood and teenage adventures in exchange of engineering my future out of weak and half-baked parts and scraps of dreams and ideas that started out from reading “Happily Ever Afters”.
I’m on a full-stop. Not only am I going to kill myself from mindless driving but from not knowing where to go. But I’ll figure it out. I have to.