I know that even though I seem vegetative to myself, I come off as doing so many things. But I never cared. I thought it’s okay to be adventurous ambitious experimental and fickle now (in alphabetical order), even if it’ll run me into the ground. When I grow up, I didn’t ever want to have regretted not trying something earlier. I needed to know what fit me better and what didn’t. Even at the price of being accused, ignored, denied or forgotten. If it really mattered, I will make people remember me again, or at least ask them to. Better than being old and remembering something I never got the chance to do.

Obviously this rationale backfired on me.

Yesterday, I lost a valuable chance. The biggest chance of my life. And ironically, I wondered if it was because I was trying to do so many different things that pleading for that one thing I loved more than anything else came off unconvincing in the end. Maybe my future work, my entire being, should have been pointing to POETRY POETRY & NOTHING BUT POETRY instead of ’situation: everywhere! who knows? that’s the fun part!’

But you know how it is. I just thought I could have been both all along.