The And: The Question
THIS MAY BE A NO-BRAINER FOR OTHERS. SOME CAN EVEN ANSWER THIS WHILE TOSSING THEIR HAIR. Some will just continue what they were doing after giving a clear-cut answer. I only wish it always works that way. I can vividly remember that night. Two months ago, we were on our way home when a friend asked me a question I have failed to answer up to now. It was actually quite simple but I had to rummage through my mind and suffer the startling effects of indecisiveness just to find the answer, the right answer, to it. What do I do best? We were talking about some Korean movies when she just dropped the question like a bomb, with me having nowhere to run and no way to escape this unveiled reality biting my innards like a monster gobbling its helpless prey. I was very disappointed with my four-word answer and swore to myself then that one day I can, and will, give her a resolute answer rather than a lousy twitch plus a lame “I do not know.” After that night, the following days were, to no surprise, terrible. I had to pretend as if I was still living my most-of-the-time-boring life and show (her) that I am not affected in the slightest way possible by the question—I began to call it, when I know that it started to haunt me from that day on until now. It haunts me anywhere, anytime it wants to—while I’m taking a bath, eating lunch, lazily watching 9-in-1 DVDs or between sips of iced tea. It even crept through the doors of the rooms I take my classes on and slipped through the pages of the books I read. It gradually consumed me and I knew I had to solve this—immediately. Without any other fuss, I began to take some possible things into consideration. First off, writing. Being part of a student publication, I thought I’d excel here the most. After hours of reflection, I realized that I seldom write now. I always find no time to make poems or essays at this point of my life unlike before (when I was in high school) when all I’d do was scrawl on a piece of paper and find myself so happy. But it’s a no. The muse no longer visits me. Perhaps there’s still a lot to learn. This led me to the next option: reading. I’m a better reader. I love to read more than I love to write. I started flipping pages of fiction novels when I was in third year high school. While my classmates were gladly choosing the make-up color they would wear, I was at my desk in a corner feeling so proud of myself whenever I’m through with works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Isabel Allende. It was during my pre-adolescence (if there’s such term) when I started collecting books–thinking that they are much more precious than lipgloss and eyeliner, making me look like a mutant compared to my ever lovely looking classmates. But I later noticed that all my books are pretty much the same. If they’re not about magic realism nor a Pulitzer winner, they are not on my shelf. I rejected to read books (about religion and other non-fiction) friends offered to lend me when it’s out of the range I like. And then, I realized that if reading really is my thing, I should be open to books about different subjects, otherwise, I cannot say I’m best at it. And so I wasn’t. Another no. One thing that also interests me is music. I can spend a whole day just listening to The Fray, Switchfoot or Eraserheads. But just like books, I have unconsciously set the parameters to the types of songs I’d listen to. I despise those head-banging and ear-wrecking kinds that sound more of chaos than music—songs I should have room for appreciation if I’m the music kid. But, no. Scratch that. My relationship with other people was also an option. I have a number of friends who tell me I’m a good-and-everything friend, but they’re always sarcastic anyway. Being a daughter, meanwhile, is not a plausible choice. My parents would always claim what a lazy daughter they have raised—always doing no household chores. And love episodes? That’s another story. Again, no. Almost running out of possible preference, I still desperately tried to find where in these posts of life I could find my name on top of the list. I wondered if I was the only one who’s bothered and whose life seemed to stop because of the question. So I asked three of my nine, well, real friends the same question in case they’d be bugged with it like me, only to find out that they could answer it without a wink. Some said they’re best in lecturing, drawing and singing. I felt a pang of frustration that time, felt so lost and defeated by my prime enemy—myself. I want to protest against this uncanny fate (or whatever you call this). I have existed for 18 years now, have done and experienced many different things and yet they’re still just not enough, and I cannot give a candid answer to what I do best. Knowing this, I admit that I did, and still do, not know what direction my life is heading, what I would be after I leave the academe, on what field I would be known best. It was a feeling I despised—I was like a soul wandering along the vast nothingness of this world—seeking, full of hope, an identity more than a name, my identity. But after all these, I recalled what the same friend that brought me all these troubles told me the day after that night. She said that I still have time ahead of me to give a reply. Finding out what you do best is not done overnight. It requires exploring your abilities and not closing doors for countless opportunities life offers. In this world filled with immense everything, something is always in store for everyone. If there’s something I learned from this realization, it’s this: nothing is too late—that someday I’ll find an unyielding answer, that one day, I’ll find myself along with other people who do extremely well in their own fields. It may be you. But what do you do best? (Julie Ann O. Ramos) Possibly Related Posts:
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