I want to be dead. (Or more correctly, undead)

My dream is to be a ghost, to roam some house, or wood through eternal night, brandishing my distressed soul to any who might wander too close.

I have lived my whole life with the sole purpose of being the best dead person I can be.

I have studied Crowley, and read Poe. I have listened to Ozzy, and admired Van Gogh. Like Johnny Cash, I only wear black. I have visited cemeteries, slept in empty caskets, and attended the funerals of people I never even knew. I took “Mortuary Sciences 101” in college, for criminy’s sake!

If there is anyone more ready to be dead than I am, I hope the son-of-gun chokes. He probably deserves it!

I want to be alone. But not in the sense of loneliness; I just want to be somewhere quiet to think. Somewhere where there is not constant noise, constant drama and criticism, constant forced conversations.

In a place where I am not required to make an appearance everyday just to make other people happy. Where I am not simply holding it together all the time until I am alone. A place where I am not relying on other people, but instead on my own responsibility and my own choices. The kind of place where I can work hard and buy everything myself, stand back after painting a wall some strange shade of green and say, "I did this. I own this." Where I can get up in the middle of the night when I can't sleep, and go lay outside in the grass and enjoy the silence simply because I want to. Maybe roam an art museum for the first time in my life and just take in the colors. To be somewhere new, to make friends with people out of genuine interest, not because someone told me to 'be more outgoing'. A place where I can be family with a dog or a cat, regardless of the allergies and sneezes, just because they are mine and no one else's. Where I can wear the clothes that I have never been brave enough to wear, or sing loud for the first time even if it's bad, or try learning a dozen languages in my terrible accents, because there will be no opinions to meet. To have the freedom to live out my wild bucket list and share my big love for Jesus and write for a living even if my writing is bad and meet my own best friends and run up the Eiffel Tower stairs and get my doctorate degree because I can and maybe-just-maybe fall in love.

It could be too much to want. And it does seem selfish. But it would be a shame to die without living out all the goals in me.

What do I want to be? Why do I want to be it?

Two very excellent questions...The first can be answered relatively easy and quickly. The second requires a little more in-depth explanation and some background.

I want to be an author. Is it a surprise? No, I guess not really.

Now, why do I want to be an author? Is it a financially secure job? No. Will everybody support me? No. Will everybody like my work? No. So, why an author?

Ever since I was a kid, I liked stories. I read books' pictures, I drew stories with pictures, and when I finally learned to read I attacked books with a fury and a passion. I was immensely intrigued in the telling of stories and the art involved in it. And after years of thinking what I want to do with my life, I finally realized that it has been with me for years. I want to write.

There's something about a fictional world that draws me in. It intrigues me. I can forget about my problems and my faults, and I can just go on this journey with my characters. Sometimes, it is a very short journey, and other times very long, but I still have the time of my life in both cases.

I also have to add that I want to be an author, because there's a ton of ideas in my head that I feel will make good stories for others to read. I'm not saying I can do justice to the ideas. I am saying that the ideas are terrific. Which means I have this great amount of pressure to present the idea correctly and wonderfully. Pressure from my brain, that is.

I want to be an author, because it is my talent. Because it is my escape. It is my passion, my great friend, and the best way for me to have an adventure. Think about it. Which person can say that they went to a fantasy land where they had to run away from creepy things, ride on a triceratops's back, and fly with pterodactyls? Which person can say that they have fallen in love a hundred times over with a million new and amazing people? (Not necessarily a good thing, come to think about it...) Which person can say that they have flown all around the world, they've seen the past, they've experienced the future, and they fully understand the present? Okay, who ever fully understands the present? My point is, writers do these things. I can do these things.

I may never set a foot in Spain, but I can run with the bulls of Pamplona. I may never visit the United States, but I can walk down the streets of Texas, reveling in that Texan accent. I may never go to Australia, but I can spy through binoculars (safely, far away from them) on kangaroos, dingoes, and koalas. So, I get to travel the world, but never leave the comforts of home. And when I get tired of the fictional world, I can return to reality, and still be me.

And these are my reasons for being what I want to be...There is possibly more, but I think I'll stop right here before I remember the other reasons.

I found out I wanted to teach about six semesters too late. In all honesty, me teaching was inevitable. I have been telling people they’re doing things wrong since inception and trying to show them how to do it right since sixth grade. But, I fought it every step of the way. I saw how my teachers have been treated from preschool to my senior year of college and wanted to not have that. Even now, I still am not doing it for the children. I like learning and have since I was a kid. I just realized that I want to try to change how education is taught, particularly history. It’s been hard to come up with how to do it. I think that’s why I want this so badly now. I like puzzles. I like coming up with how to do things, so I’m excited to figure out how to incorporate what we’re already taught with ALL the stuff I’ve learned.

The issue is, I’m a biology major. I can’t quit now though because I only have a year left and even an education minor is 48 volunteer hours, two three-credit classes that are smack dab in the middle of the day, and a lot more work than I want to do. But, I still want to find a way to get my teaching license and figure out how to weasel my way into being a history teacher and trying out my budding lesson plans. I don’t know how yet, but I keep reminding myself that I’m only 21 so there’s plenty of time for me to chase, lose, trip over, step on, and eventually catch my dreams. After all, I hope to be around for a while.

This year, I--like many--learned just how often one's plan for the future can become a joke to circumstance. I never expected that March 13, 2020 would be the last day of my conventional childhood. I never expected to graduate high school within the confines of the family SUV. I never expected to pursue my degree alone in my house. I never expected to feel so numb, doing it alone.

But when the numbness begins to creep in and I can't seem to find motivation, I turn to my dream, my aspiration. And it gives me something to cling onto--a reason to be excited about life itself.

So, here's my dream: I want to be a linguist. I don't even know where it'll take me, but I want to study language. I want to learn every language I can, and then some. Maybe I'll end up a translator or a professor or a Spanish teacher--I have no idea yet, but that never fazes me. All I know is that I want to live and breathe foreign language for the rest of my life.

As cliché as it sounds, talking about language makes me feel alive like nothing else. It’s a wonder to me—somehow, humans naturally use this intense web of sounds, grammar, slang, etiquette, and so much more in order to communicate. And they do it flawlessly. To me, it's living, breathing art.

Not only is language beautiful to me, but it's so, so important. I believe that cultural ignorance is the root of oppression, and that language is key to combating it. One thing that learning foreign languages has taught me is that language is a window into a different culture. The way the words and sentences are structured shows the history of the speaker population, and things like slang, honorifics, and even vocabulary convey cultural values in a way that just can’t be translated.

In a country where monolingualism is the norm, I feel it’s crucial to perpetuate and support linguistics, because it’s more than just the study of language—it’s the study of empathy.

I also just find grammar absolutely fascinating. Stringing together sentences with new rules that I'm still learning is just enjoyable to me. Especially when I think about actually using those sentences to talk with people.

So when I feel numb or without purpose, I go back to what I love. Even if it isn't in a productive way. If I'm too unmotivated to keep teaching myself Mandarin, then I'll just watch a youtube video on linguistics or listen to a Spanish song. Even if my dream doesn't make me motivated every day, it brings me happiness, and knowing that it will never fade brings me comfort. That's all I need for now. I have my dream, and I'm pursuing it at my own pace. I know I'll get there someday.

I want to hold a job I’d law enforcement.

but, my ultimate goal is to work

for the Feberal Bureau of Investigation.

i would love to be able to call myself a proud member

of a smaller division within the Bureau,

a team known as the Behavioral Analysis Unit, or the BAU.

i suppose the dream of being in law enforcement

has been deeply rooted within me;

ever since I was a young child

stories of crime and mystery

have intrigued me.

I remember always turning on the tv,

getting sucked into the crime stories

on the news.

i remember my dad telling me to change the channel,

no young girl my age should be watching that.

as I got older, I realized my passion still holds,

only now, I’m starting to realize why my love still stands.

in a world that shows you only the ugly,

i still want to see the beautiful.

i want to help people,

even those society has turned away from.

i don’t want to believe that people are horrible

from the moment they were born.

i want to know what made them change,

if they can be saved,

because I know if I don’t do it,

there’s a good chance no one will.

i’ve always wanted to help people,

even from a really young age.

it not only makes me feel good,

but it gives me a purpose.

You question what I’d want to be?

I’ve been a lot, but lack the key.

While I aspire to lofty dreams,

and my imagination teems

with dozens upon dozens of

the jobs my heart would truly love,

I don’t know what is right for me.

(Not at this time, especially.)

I think this virus gifted me

with a new start. But we shall see.

The question I would ask of you

is why you've asked me what I’d do.

So listen, lad, and take to heart

some wisdom I will now impart.

Do well, my son, whate'er you do

and if you can, take pleasure, too.

You can change your mind, mind you.

Don’t rush. Discern your aptitude.

But aptitude alone won’t show

where your true ‘purpose sense’ will grow.

To serve one’s fellow is first rate,

but keep in mind your mental state.

Try occupations on for size.

Apprentice first to recognize

if what you’d do would satisfy

your inner self. Philosophize.

I fell into another dreamworld,

like so many times before,

back to the middle or high school years again,

trying to seek some Space Geometry answer…

Drawing a line in-between of a Right triangle,

figuring out how to descend a trajectory plane to its center gravity point,

from where I can retrieve back to the original source that all mass were created,

then, from that original spot to project two elliptic curves—

simulating Solar System planetary rotation of some orbiting platform,

first small, then large, both capturing the perfect spherical magnetic fields

each was designated for…

The math solution evolved on and on…

until I completely lost track of the original question,

until everyone participating the game was so mesmerized and lost as well…

The sophisticated evolution of a geometry puzzle,

transforming itself into a convoluted star constellation map,

expanding and evolving within a forever spinning milky way,

on and on…

I tried to capture this puzzle solving imaging onto my phone,

only to find out the phone screen was too small to capture the

strife dynamic among godlike deities behind the whole scheme--

Just like the storylines eons of Ancient Greek mythological

gods and goddesses were actively gripping,

among the unseen universal perplexing power-balancing of a grandiose orchestra…

Maybe that Space Analytic Geometry test that we were trying to solve

on this third dimensional plane,

was merely the reflected pixel frame of an ongoing,

multi-faceted, multi-dimension legendary saga.

Maybe all my classmates were as lost as me,

or maybe I was the only one who was aware of how lost I was,

while trying to untangle this intense mathematical test.

My wise middle school teacher suddenly showed up next to me in dream,

“If you couldn’t capture the image of the answer,

why don’t you take a shot for the question instead?”

Yes, that is true. So I turned around,

trying to find the place where the original question was written at.

It was disguised at some faraway corner of a hidden space,

an older gentleman is closely guarding the “Question” behind the scene,

as if it is a long forgotten dusty ancient shrine, that

no one could take a peek of it easily.

He asked me in a forbidding way: “why are you here?”

I answered him back with certainty: “I am willing to find the Question.”

He was shaken by the certainty of my determination, didn’t stop me any further.

I suddenly woke up from the dream,

finding myself so lost in a confounded way, while asking myself inside my head:

What is the question that I need to ask the self?

Why I’d been shunning away from the question my whole life?

Why the resistance had been so strong of a push that

I barely had any time to rest and be myself?

And how it would feel like to be myself?

Why I’d been waiting so long for someone to throw the answer at me,

while I myself didn’t even see my own question clearly?

Why the struggle was so fierce that I barely able to live a truly fulfilled life?

Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose? And what should be my next move?

“My wise ancient ancestors,

please siren at my ears

the sound of your wisdom flute,

awaken my heart out of this century-long amnesia, so that

I could finally become aware of the very Question that can

reveal my true predestined quest on earth.”