There are a lot of things we hoped and thought we would be but found out in the end that we can never be what we wanted to be.
I thought I’d be an environmentalist. I never became one.
The first essay I wrote in my grade five writing class was my dream of becoming a doctor. I passed the University of the Philippines INTARMED program but never pursued it because of the expense of the course. I’ll never pin a caduceus on a white coat nor prescribe something on a paper with an Rx in the letterhead.
I want to become a writer, but I think the job will not provide me the financial stability I need. For now I am shelving this one.
Can we be anything we really want, or we want it because we already become one? I envy people who have made clear plans for their lives and gone ahead with a carefully set goals and stratagems to dodge whatever roadblocks that impede them from getting what they want.
For the past years, I felt I’ve been victim of fate or lack of careful planning as to where my life is leading. I’ve been grabbing opportunities left and right without analyzing whether they accrue towards something I want to become. And it dawned on me that I do not really know what I want to become. I can never be anything.
I want something to define me, something to call myself. I am currently on a state of identity flux. And in moments like these do I think of the value of an epithet, a name.
I hope I can be somebody.