Dreams

I used to believe that life was all planned out for me. I'd study, get a degree, land a nice job, settle down and have a few (dozen) kids. All i had to do was to go through the suffering, and life's major decisions would take care of themselves. My career, my love life, my life in general.


Now I realise how naive I was, and to a certain extent, still am. Ignorant even, for lack of a better word. Despite constant proddings, and stark reminders that life can be as painful as riding a bicycle when you're suffering from piles, I seldom took heed. But I was not without ambitions, no. Striking the lottery within a few months of reaching the legal age, flying around the world by the ripe old age of 30, just to name a few. But grew up knowing these were not meant to be. I would not be impecunious, but neither would I be living an extravagant lifestyle. I would be comfortable, living each day as it comes. Life goes on, doesn't it?


Something struk a chord in me recently. Something dug a spur in the hide of my ambitions, waking me up, partially, to life and its deplorable decisions. I do not want to continue on this one-way street to mediocrity. Mediocrity of vocation, mediocrity of love, mediocrity of life. When you wait for something to happen, more often than not, you will be waiting forever.


I do not mean to sound overly ambitious. But to dream, that is my prerogative. And men are made of dreams.