towards a path unknown

The first quarter at Central has been a breeze. Psychology is fascinating and the work load isn't hard. And math, well math is just math. But I've registered for next quarter - and my am I in for a ride.  

My classes:


I'm looking forward to a quarter of hectic schedules, night-long studies, and on-going rants. I thrive in such situations, and also it will keep my mind off of things. Things like my siblings whom I miss terribly, or my ever-changing mind that tells me to pursue a career as a doctor, nurse, teacher, and writer. A doctor in respect and authority, a nurse in compassion and serving, a teacher in change and building, and a writer in inspiring and igniting.

Ha ha ha

Funny, real funny.

Moving right along. I've been having trouble with getting errands done -in the right order. It isn't so much a matter of prioritizing as it is remembering. I am so forgetful.

I wanted to write this post yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and the day before that.

And my grandmother has asked me countless times to call her doctor's, I don't know whatever for.

And we've been without internet at our father's apartment for some time now. I thought my brother would take care of that, but it looks like that too has fallen upon me to undertake. Me who is writing an overdue post at her grandma's house, with a textbook open nearby and eyes that are framed with exhaustion, and a hint of sorrow.

I don't know if this is the life I'm meant to be living, or if there is perhaps more -beyond the puddles I avoid, and the curving endless paths that present themselves to me - as nothing more than choices. Choices that terrify me and excite me and make me wonder if somethings are worth falling for, and crying for, and failing for, and possibly even dying for.

Sure I go to college. I know what I want to do (please refer to paragraph two) and I'm getting things done. But I want to do more. Like volunteer at a hospital. And take CNA classes. Do medical interpreting for a while. Be a librarian. Form a book club. Write a book.

But, here I am writing an overdue post at my grandmother's house, with my open textbook nearby, craving orange juice, missing my siblings, and feeling so very sorry for my worn eyes and how much it must behold and with hold - this brightly lit screen, the sorrow that is almost seeping through, almost, and the exhaustion of hoping, and hoping

and hoping,

that perhaps tomorrow shall be different.


beyond hoping's very fears

I have another job interview this Monday. I am very uncertain about it, and knowing myself, would not be the least bit shocked if two hours prior to the interview, I decide to stay and cuddle with my books instead.


Isn't it amazing how we manage to lie even to our selves? This is what prevents us from growth and progression.

Dare to dream.

I tell myself all the time, yet every time I am confronted by a steep cliff, I am too afraid to take the leap.

Doubts and uncertainty.

When did I lose hope in myself and the potential within me?

I want to start my own home based dugsi.

I want

I want

I wish

I hope….beyond hoping's very fears.