A Confession

A CONFESSION

(Anonymous)

Everything had been going on real fine until I had not had any wisdom and a desperate ambition to be a writer. I was a fool, have always been in fact as far as I remember, or I’ve always imagined myself to be, for when I remember partially of the things I did or said since the day I’ve had the consciousness to up till some months before, I conclude everything of my life to be the script of a douche.

Yet I was satisfied over the parameter of my happiness in my state of mind. And as I’ve learned over the past few months, I would love to get back to that state for anything. Isn’t that all what matters? To be convinced of living a fine life, however ambition less and simple it be. Easy to compare it with the day of a cat owner. Like, I had been brilliant in convincing myself of my fine days and a great future, just as the cat owners do, convincing themselves continuously that their pet loves them and puts in as much effort to the animal-human relationship as they do. Imagining their dear cat behaving, some day like an ideal cat - that is, the dog to be precise. Though the reality is clear and on the face, the affection for the cat never dies, the fine state of mind plays well. The publishing of my book, the effort to it are never gonna change. If only my state of mind had not had any change either. For the ambition has his own taste as it looks a dream. 

Though the wisdom does hit at some point, and as it does, your mere hobby and your little talent become the protagonist of the life ahead. However classy an unsecured future may sound, it brings with it, a load to throw you into the deep corners. 

Your triumph as you see little minds struggling to run for the cookie of the settled tomorrow fades as your reality presents the possible glimpse of your future. The way had always been clear for you. It has been, somewhat now as well, but then, going back to the path of your patents’ ambition would be like, asking to quit all the addictions together overnight. 

A magician dreams easy of being the best in the entire nation until the thought doesn’t pass of him being merely the best at present in a street with no magicians. You see, put your odds of the entire life over one thing, not the romance, not the civility, anything - to end up being the best at it among the little rats? That would be like the appreciation after speaking some primary Chinese words among a few Americans and presenting yourself as a translator. Somewhere, a genius awaits with the grades of your limits.