I asked my mother what were her ambitions and desires at around my age?  She told me she once wanted to be a massage therapist. She wanted to learn how to heal people, to alleviate their sufferings with skilled and tender touch.

Did her parents approve of this? Absolutely not. Most girls going into the business of giving massages gets pushed into giving sexual services, my mom’s father said. 

So she ended up not continuing that pursuit. After marrying, according to my mom, my father sort of discouraged her from finding work since he was a jealous and insecure man who didn’t like the thought of her out and about with other men. After having me, she felt that better stay home in order to raise me. The sacrifice that came with that decision is profound.

How can I live with myself? I’m constantly disappointing my parents, especially my mother. My parents put up with sacrificing so many—their health, their dreams, their joys in life, and what did I give them in return? I gave them disappointment. I returned the favor by being a quitter, by being uncommitted, lazy and short-sighted. All they wanted is for me to succeed in life. But I only consistently caused them fatigue, illness, rapid-aging, and hair-tearing rage. Geez, I can’t get the thought out of my head that if I was never born, my mom would no doubt NOT be in the terrible condition she is in today. 

It was largely my mom’s driving force that made me the piano player I am today. But I shrugged off practicing all the time. My mom signed me up for an expensive private tutor when I wouldn’t study for the SAT on my own. But I only did half of the tutor’s assigned work. My mom would take the time to do most the housework, always cooking dinner for us, striving to free up my time to allow ME to expand my knowledge and do meaningful things. But what did I do instead? I wasted darn near all of it, playing video games day after day, dicking off on the web night by night.

I see many of my friends, from the 4.0 GPAers to the fledging C or D-students. They worked hard on ensuring their future. Researching schools, filling out college apps, working on essays and scholarships, some even winning interviews and scholarships from top schools. Even if they’re unsure or unconfident, even if they didn’t win the grades and scores they wanted, they still tried. Well I wouldn’t give a flying shit! I wouldn’t even know what to do in college if I make it in one. I don’t have the motivation to do any of these things. What future? I have no future.

And then I see the friends who really, really enjoy the arts, who dealt with their self-consciousness like a boss so they can sing and play and dance and write and compose and draw and create and craft and mix and mash so FREELY. I too want to submerge myself in the bottomless musical ocean and comb the coloriffic, pebbly beach that makes great literature, so what’s stopping me? Why am I so afraid?

Speaking of composing, it’s supposed to be fun, but it’s so damn painful sometimes. I’m never completely satisfied with whatever I write, and it takes ages to beat the words out of me. I’m just a slow writer. And a perfectionist. I think about deleting the scummy words I wrote off the face of the Earth each day. And my musical ventures are all mediocre at best. I haven’t been able to make any catchy songs. Why do I even try if I know I’m just going to get fed up with myself?

I can’t find the motivation. Can’t trust my own creativity. I know deep down inside I love writing and composing. But if I love it so much, why can’t I bring myself to write and compose? Why can’t I do it without hating my guts, without getting horrified at the monstrosities I craft, without threatening to nuke my writings then chop off my fingers? Why can’t I just trust myself and say perhaps I won’t miserably fail and waste my time? Why do I not want to try?

I know it is my absolute dream to be able to enlighten, brighten, and/or heighten someone’s day with my sublime songs and pleasant prose. To be able to lucidly express feelings and emotions in melody and free-flowing rhythm, so that others can relate to themselves and their friends, their families, their soulmates, their coworkers, bosses, employees, classmates, teammates and total strangers. Now if only it’s possible for that dream to come true.