One day, I woke up with the sudden realization that I have to work on my dream of becoming a writer. I’ve already wasted a year of not doing anything about it that it started to haunt me everywhere.

I’ve always said that I really wanted to take up Journalism because writing has always been something I am fond of doing but my parents didn’t want me to. So instead, I took up a course that I didn’t really like. I survived school, I graduated on time, I can also say that I made my parents proud but I didn’t make myself proud. I went and marched on that stage a year ago with a smile on my face that everyone thought was so genuine but it wasn’t. That night, when I got home, I stayed awake until dawn… It hurt, it hurt so much that I felt it in my bones. 

The next day, I woke up and promised myself to practice and never stop writing no matter what. I did. I wrote book reviews, I wrote about sports, I wrote personal experiences, I wrote about everything I could write about.

Yesterday, a friend asked me what course I took up in college and the conversation went on and on until I opened up about always wanting to take up Journalism. He told me that he would try to refer me to a friend of his who works in a known newspaper company and my eyes automatically lit up. I considered that conversation a sign that I should do something about this dream of mine sooner or later. I don’t want to regret not being able to pursue it when I grow old.


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