All right, it sounds corny but I think I’m getting birthday jitters. I know right, it’s so early (what? still a mouth and two weeks) before I turn a year older but I’m getting strange feelings.
First of all, I’m turning 22. And I don’t really know whether I should consider myself younger than 23 or older than 21. It’s this feeling that I don’t know my direction yet. Yes, I do have a job, but it’s not really the job I want to grow old doing.
Not for discontent or being ingrate, but every time I try to imagine the many things that I can do, or become, and see how far that is from where I am now, I still get myself frustrated. It’s never wrong to dream right?
In fact, I have dreamed so many dreams. At around 10, I drew myself as a doctor — remember that school project called, Who am I 20 years from now? When I look back to that, I just can’t believe I ever thought of being a doctor, or why I did.
What they did not notice then was that I can draw. Eventually, it has become my hobby and has consumed most of my time, pages on my notebook, pencils, papers and crayons. In high school, I used to join Poster Making contests, but I did not win any because some guys were better. I did not harbor ill feelings though because I myself am a fan of their work. Being a part of the competition with them is fulfilling enough.
Aside from that, I was (and ever will be) a struggling school writer. In Grade four, our humble barrio school had its first ever campus pressconference. It’s typically a workshop-contest where the top students from grades four to six are introduced to campus journalism, to which I didn’t know anything about.
I actually don’t remember how it happened but I won in Editorial writing English. I found myself competing in the District Level contest where the students from the central school always won since the world was created. Aside from that, I became a part of the school paper, even the Editor in Chief, without any inkling what this means. All I know is, I have my name in the paper, which is rather kilig and awkward (you see it’s actually the teacher-adviser of the paper that writes most of the articles).
When I went to high school, I was immersed into a new environment: me being the only one from my barangay school joining a whole section of students mostly from the central. But I was a person of my own. I think I blended easily, being funny by nature.
Aside from that, I easily made my mark. I joined the (you guessed right) Campus Presscon again. Would you believe I was first place in two categories? I couldn’t believe either. Maybe I was (past tense) just lucky.
But things took a detour as I did not really become a full-blooded school journalist. I would compete in Essay writing contests, but it was different with school paper. Besides, our school’s management then had other priorities.
An opportunity came again when the School Paper regained interest in Senior Year. I had a change of heart: I changed medium to Filipino this time. And that was a good choice. I even reached the Regional level contest.
I do not know what I really love to do. People say I can write. But it’s not enough that I can. I should be good at it. I should learn it. But I have lost my fervor for education midway in College. From then on, all I ever wanted was to get out of the university and see the world.
This blog has given the chance to relive what I have lost in the process of exploring several possibilities: my passion to tell stories. I am not a write nor do I aim to be one. I am just me trying to share my story.
Indeed, there are many untapped potentials within me, not one people said that. I have an interest in the arts, in design. Some people always over-react when I show my sketches, as if it’s impossible to draw anything like that. I know I can, somehow, draw, but it is of a very novice level that is too low for a 21-year old. I know they’re just being friendly and generous and kind and pleasant, which I truly appreciate. But I don’t take the compliments too seriously.
I have little talent in many things, but not enough to make it big in any. I am not insecure though. I am, for a fact, grateful with what I have because they are gifts.
I just think of what life would give. I have learned to embrace as much positivism as I can as I will be my own power source, and live a simple life, so simple that it does not glitter. So simple that many times I find it bland, boring but I’m still living it— I did for the past 21 years counting.