Can I seriously say something scary? I never had any good ambition. My mother said that I once told my grandfather that I wanted to be a millionaire. I was too little to even comprehend what that means. I told my teacher that I wanted to be a police officer or a teacher. The best joke was a stewardess.

I’m not even remotely polite and I have a genuinely hot temper.

“You want what? Fuck off!”

I don’t know about students nowadays. They gave an air of superiority yet clueless at the same time. Their long fingers typing rapidly on a flat touch screen pad and seemed to forget how to live if their smartphones ran out of battery. I’ve never bonded with anyone targeted within that age group as for now so I can’t possibly give an opinion. Honestly, all I knew by seventeen was that I should choose either medical, engineering, account or art. The school decided that science is the best bet for the future. I didn’t think I had a choice. It was always Math, Bio, Physics and Chemistry. So does college and university.

After graduation then you found out that all jobs suck. The doctors, the engineers, the customer service agents, the programmers, the government servants, the clerks, the accountants, the people that came to your school to give a brief introduction about their careers, all of them secretly hate their jobs it’s pathetic. They just want a regular tranquilizer to induce the comatose behavior 5 days in a week and rewarded by a collective payment so that they can buy happiness. A bag, a vacation, a bracelet – your pick.

I would hate to hate my job, really. This is my ultimate goal. I hated my life and to a certain degree my own self for a long time so hating my job is not something I would voluntarily do. Hatred is not good company for anyone’s mental health. Although I struggle now, I feel better and that’s okay.

I have to admit that I have enormous respect for people who stayed on a job they hate. I really do. Those people who cherished 5 o’clock exits and celebrate it in a crawl of traffic jam. The same people that hate Mondays and welcome Friday evenings like a close relative. I tried many times to do this but I couldn’t. I wanted to secretly gossip about boss and play games in office politics. I would like to go to meetings and justify a new procedure and moan about my late O.T. Mediocre life. Normal.

But routines are lethal – a slow poison that leached life out of your existence. Surely everyone has a dream job. Something they’d do for free. Something that makes them jumps out of bed every morning. Something that made them strives for progress instead of perfection. Simply put, the simple things, (like a hobby perhaps) that would only make them feel alive and fulfilled.

Writing is just something that makes me stay awake at 4 a.m plotting murders for the sake of fictional characters. Dragons, princess and poisonous toads. That’s my kind of story.

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