I loved reading books when I was .. can't tell now. Until high school I think. Until when I was around 15 – 16 years old. Until the only books I started buying became test preparation books. I also loved writing. 📗

I started a game magazine with a few friends when we were 13 years old. We tried selling it in some game shops. I also used to write book reviews myself.

I used to write a lot of poems. Probably they were horrible. I do not care. I loved it. I was strong with words. I might not be as strong here as English is not my main language.

Back in my days in high school we had to choose a path – lessons focused on Math and Science, Math and Literature, Literature and Social Sciences. I went the Math and Science route. Not because I wanted to. My parents just made me do so, so I could be rich in the future. So that I would become an engineer. Little did the know I never was meant to be an engineer.

Well, well.. I am now blaming everything on my parents – how mature.

I feel like I am wearing a suit that fits me perfectly when I spend time with words, paragraphs, chapters, stories, ideas.. I do not like numbers, I do not like formulas.

How I wish I was brave enough to face myself when I was 15 years old. How I wish I was brave enough to tell my parents I only had one life and I would much work as a librarian, a historian, an editor..

I was raised with the fear of unemployment, not being able to find work. Look at me now. Struggling with life and everything.

OK, shut up and make the change. You do not understand – I do not have that kind of money. I do not have that kind of time in my hands. It is too late. Now that I realize all this (or at least I think I realize all this), it is too late. I am almost 40 years old. I have a family to support.

You are lying, you would have been complaining that you always wanted to be an engineer had you taken that route. No.. I mean, I do not think so. I cannot know for sure..

Then I am doomed.. Or the problem is elsewhere. I literally cannot untie this knot myself. I am scared I do not know what I want. Do I just want to complain? Please no, that would mean there is no escape. I want to escape.

I will just admit it.. I sometimes think I was raised very badly. Not intentionally – but does that matter? OK – there were many others who were raised badly – much worse than me. How come they are not a mess? See, again it is my fault. It is my fault because that is who I am. It is my fault being who I am.

You must show some effort. What effort? I want to but what effort?

You are living a life you do not even deserve. It should have been much worse. OK, I can see that. I can accept that.

Enough for today, I am very tired. It is a Sunday evening, weather is very nice outside – it is perfect actually. I should be enjoying life right? It is near impossible when you finally find the courage to admit yourself all the mistakes you have made in the last 35+ years. It is near impossible when you are a prisoner in your own life.