When I think of my aspirations, I call them goals even when they’re no different from dreams. I can’t tell if it’s normal, but it seems that these dreams of mine are easily forgotten once I recognize them. I may wake up and have a vivid memory of it, but if I’m given an hour– it fades.
I may bury these aspirations of mine, but I can’t forget them. After all, our youthful ambitions may die off– but are they not a tale for us to be wistful of?
In my eyes, a dream is a dream– a delusion that can’t be weighed by reality in a single go. A goal is something that can be done, even if it stretches a person’s mortality. My goals are akin to stairs, my dream being a door that I’ll open. There is no key to be found, as these doors remain locked– leaving some to die on its doorstep.
It is our effort that opens it, battering it open. After all, life has already barricaded it so it’s only fitting to kick this last threshold to the ground.
Some of humanity’s dreams are far too vast for a single man to conquer. But, we have abundant lives to throw onto this path. If one falters, then two more shall take his place. If we exist, then there’s a flame burning on every path. It may grow cold for a bit, but this flame shall return– to continue this path or to burn this door down.
I believe that it’s finally time for me to legislate some of my goals and my dream, for me to organize my thoughts in this regard.
I have a lot of dreams, but there’s only one that I’d bet my life against before thinking about the rest. It’s one that is a bit common nowadays, the dream of being self-sufficient, to provide enough for the rest of my ambitions to prosper.
Without a foundation, I can build nothing that’ll last. When Icarus flew, he was able to feel the sun before he fell into the ocean. I cannot stand, let alone fly. After all, I have nothing to anchor my feet on to begin with.
A dream that I cannot sustain is a heart demon, an ambition that seeks my life. I may look, but that’s all I can do. I’ve already leapt out of a few fires, and I’ve no interest on jumping into another. In my eyes, I recognize them as a fantasy– a beautiful painting whose beauty is inlaid with the path it shows me.
Unlike other dreams of mine, I’d be buried twice if I couldn’t provide for myself. You and I both know well of this slope that claimed the lives of some. I can’t speak for others, but it’d be a shameful confession for a sane man like me to make. It is my dawn.
If I am self-reliable, then that door remains. After all, the remaining doors are barricaded even harder .My second dream is one of those doors, a door that I’m unsure of. The door of politics.
Politics and law is a subject that I’d jump into, but it’s a place that rejects half-hearted approaches. I believe that I’d make for a good politician, especially so after looking at our current state of affairs. But, I’m decades too early for me to enter this race without a silver spoon.
I am disadvantaged by the virtue of my existence. So, I’m going to spend my time building a relentless spoon. Even if I don’t win, I’m going to break those spoons. Those cracks are only going to widen with each race, and I plan on dedicating my life for decades to make up for this disadvantage.
I can’t be sure that I stay true to this commitment of mine, as I have 20-30 years to go. I accept that since my efforts can be rewarded in a different area. Who’s to say that my spoon is exclusive to politics?
It’s a dream of mine that’ll start in my hours of dusk, an end-game.
My third dream is the door of a civil servant. The first reason for this is that my path is predisposed towards these doors, I have an affinity for them. For me, serving the people is a noble aspiration. By opening this door, I may eventually rise among the ranks of career officials.
Apart from that, I find the salary and benefits to be attractive. If I get this type of job, I won’t be bankrupt– financially and morally. I’m a bit pragmatic since it’s hard to find a good balance. After all, money is merely paper for the dead and virtue alone can’t pay the bills for the living.
In my youth, I wanted to become a police officer. Unfortunately, my ambitions would be constrained if I chose this door. But, I haven’t forgotten it– so this dream of mine is a form of atonement for me to console my past self.
I want to make a name for myself in those federal agencies, to use as a springboard for the door of politics. If I decide otherwise, I’ll be on the payroll until my interment. My name will endure somewhere, but I don’t know where.
A person’s clock ticks with each breath, and I fear that my clock will expire before I materialize these dreams. Be it politics, bureaucracy, and my fourth dream– all of them are as greedy as me if there’s time involved. This dream is one that starts in the afternoon and may stretch long after daylight hours.
Thankfully, my fourth dream is a key for this door of bureaucracy– giving me the luxury of choosing my future. That dream is the door of military service, the material of my foundation.
It’s one of the better foundations for those of us working in certain industries, so heaven be damned if I were to forfeit on that– to settle with indecision. While my timer has yet to start, I’m not going to waste my time.
It’s the first step of my path. If everything goes as planned, then I’ll receive a commission– to be inducted as a cyber officer. Depending on the choices that I make, I’ll be serving for 4-12 years– a charge that I accept. This dream starts from the zenith hours and shall eventually set.
Some of us forget that time tends to be a more valuable currency. The plans that I’ve written so far exchange my time for money. It’s a bit humorous for me to write this, as I thought I was a humble man.
Be it Military, Politics, Civil Service– any of these paths would be enough for a lifetime. Yet here I am, wanting all three when I didn’t even drink the nectar of a single path. A dog can’t spit the meat that he already swallowed, and this essay already took a bite for me.
In a way, politics serves as compensation for the image of nonpartisanship that I have to maintain for a decent bit of my life. I already wrote about the Military path and chains that I am to accept.
When I join the civil service, I’ll be wearing looser chains as partisan politics has no tolerance for the mantle I’m going to undertake. To say the least, it’s a bit ironic. Regardless, I can still stand with my dignity intact. Even if I fall, I’ll be standing horizontally with my pride.
With this, the hours of my careers have been established. I’d write the minutes, but I’ve no intent on showing all of my cards.
Now, I’m not dull enough to think only about my career. My fifth dream is a rather simple one. To live a life that lets me stand in front of my Lord without shame. I have to live this life, for only then could I die in peace.
I’ve given my word, and my word is my bond– the covenant I have with Him. Even in death, my oath remains. This dream marks the hour of terminus, the final one.
A dream may be a simple one, but that label is a deception. We’ve come to assume that simple translates to ease, but you may find these dreams to be harder than the most complex schemes.
Some of my desires don’t fit into the hours, so let the moon’s shadow encompass them all. My sixth dream is to become a collector of attires. In my eyes, clothes are representative of time– their vestiges being culture and tradition. I’d love to wear some of these outfits, but I am destitute– leaving this dream for the future.
Apart from that, I’m not satisfied with my current wardrobe at the moment– so I’m waiting to overhaul it entirely. Imitation is a compliment in this case, especially so given my affinity for looks being abysmal at best. I am confident in myself, that belief remains unquestioned. But unfortunately, I can’t fashion this confidence into actual clothes.
While I do have more dreams, they tend to be people-centric– and I’ve no plans to let them be read by others. They seldomly fit into place as they move like how people move in flux. In my eyes, recording these dreams is no different than placing a dagger above my heart. My work may be read by scores of ten, but it only takes a single person to push that blade into my heart.
I doubt they’d make me bleed, but hubris has already claimed the lives of those written in history. To embrace this habit would bring shame to me, to everything I’ve learnt over the course of life. For what good is that knowledge when I can’t recognize these patterns?
With this, let me awaken from this daydreaming of mine. Back in September, I gave myself a writing target of 100,000 words for me to fulfill before I graduate. Yet here I am with less than 10,000 words remaining– four months to spare.
When I do complete this goal, I doubt I’ll find any real satisfaction. I may be proud of it, but I found most of my joy in the means rather than the ends. Even after I write over 100,000 words, I’ll still be writing. My motivation changed from a quota to a genuine love for the game.
I believe that this change is one that I’m going to see over and over in my future, as my pride satisfies itself with the result, the rest of me being content with the process. But, I’m not a soothsayer so who knows? I’ll let the future write the answer to this.
There’s a saying that I’m going to coin my own, as I haven’t heard from anyone else yet: “A person’s apology should be louder than their mistakes.” In the past, I’ve apologized 2-3 times in the course of my writing. I don’t really care if others see those mistakes or not, as a mistake remains a mistake– even if it’s hidden in the dark.
It’s a bit humorous to think that I can apologize with people not knowing the reason behind it. And so it becomes my responsibility to demonstrate causality, my standards and concept of accountability differing from others.
It’s self-imposed, so while I may see my acts as mistakes– some of us see normalcy. It’s akin to a double standard for myself, and I like that standard. I’m accountable to myself and God, the first standard established– then others with the standards of society. If anything, I prefer to be transparent like this– my essays alone being proof.
It’s almost time for me to wrap this up, but there’s something that I have to nitpick. I don’t know how these stories have become so prominent, but some people pollute an entire industry with the book that they publish– desecrating the title of author in it’s professional capacity.
I recognize that we may have different levels of proficiency, and that it would be too harsh to paint with a single brush. In my eyes, I recognize that a book’s quality is derived from an author’s writing.
A book’s plot and associated concepts is only as good as the person writing it. You may give a person gold, but that gold shall either become a master piece or shall instead be squandered. It seems that we’ve conflated popularity with competence, allowing this atmosphere to persist.
Those of the past have elevated numbers to the point of symbolism, yet I am to bear witness to ideas being murdered in the book that holds it– dismembered in the hands of a “New York Times best-seller”.
The same could be said for a genre of online novels. I can absolve them on an individual basis, but it’s a collective problem– their sincerity cannot fully negate the flaw of their writing. If anything, the quantity of their works alone has already made an impact.
It’s a bit personal for me since I’ve seen a single concept being the basis of a single genre, with some novels being works of art, other novels being worse than the likes of AI. I would write an entire story to prove my point, but writing about it would suffice. A fish won’t jump onto land just to prove that it could still move.
In the grand scheme of life, it doesn’t warrant any more energy for me to commit further. And so, I conclude ‘Dreams’ with this.
Author’s note: I’ve become a bit busy and fell out of my usual tempo as a result. Changes-wise, I’ve unpinned the ‘Why I write’ essay since it’s more of an artistic adornment than anything else. It took me a solid minute to realize this, so I’ll be rewriting it post-graduation.
I also removed this account’s tag temporarily to account for a few additions, it should be back by the time I publish this. I’m thinking about making posts like a podcast for me to yap whenever I want to about whatever I want to yap about. I’ll definitely make the recordings but I’m conflicted on publishing it. I can’t get behind making stories since it’s an alien concept for me.
My essays serve as a public counterpart since I can afford to be more personal in those podcasts. Anyways, moving on. This is my way of planning my future since it’s fun and is a method that I actually want to try. It’s chaotic order.
Since the future isn’t set in stone, my plans may change– but this should be it for the most part. I’d have more to say, but I also have more to consider. As always, congratulations for reaching the end of this piece.