What I'd thought it won't be...

Most times people go through life thinking they've got it mapped out.

Yes, people structure life into segments. Of sweet sweet childhood, of teenage angsty years, of the turbulent young adult phase, of moving into working adult, middle age with all its assorted crisises, retirement. Then of course there is the all-out end of death, which we all so very much try to be prepared and planned for.

I mean, don't you? 'This is the time for getting a degree'. 'This is the time for finding a job and getting a salary'. blah blah blah. 'By the time I am 25 I must be married'. blah blah blah. The list goes on. And all the while we have this mental image of who we will be in 1, 2, 5, 10, 20 years time. As if we'd know for sure. As if that's how things should really be.

I've got a dream once. I dreamt that I would be an artist. I dreamt I would fill galleries of my charcoal paintings and sell them off one by one and make a living in some penthouse/studio like Issac Mendez. That was when I was 15. I did a most marvelous thing that year, and that is I was one of the few brilliant artists in my school who did a thing most charitable to an elderly home by putting up wall paintings and murals so that the folks living there won't just have drab walls to look at in their spare time (and believe me they had alot of spare time, much to their own surprise). I got that to point to when people say that I wouldn't make it as an artist. Added to that is the fact that I am the highest scoreholder in my class in Studio Art class. All the Art teachers know me, some of whom I was on first name basis with.

I thought that by the time I was 22 and out of uni after doing a wonderful Art course that I would come out ready to charge straight into a studio and churn out masterpieces. I thought that by the time I was 30 I'd own my own gallery. By the time I was 40 I'd get married and go on extended honeymoons. That by the time I was 50 I'd try my hand at controlling my own death and the way I'd go out by committing suicide or something in some suitably grand style for such a grand life.

What I'd thought it would be.

Truth is I'd never got into Art school. My folio wasn't enough by the time I was 17. My parents made me concentrate on the Math and the English. Art went out the window. I graduated with a high score but no dreams. I faced mountains (for a 17 year old) of decision-making the likes of which I wasn't really prepared for. What will I do now? And in all that confusion I just merely looked at what's available and chose Psychology coz it 'sounded suitably interesting' compared to say Commerce, and I didn't really know what Anthropology and Media studies and Creative Writing was all about.

And so I entered uni as a 1st year Psych student. I started dreaming that I would be a forensic psych one day, or some clinical neuropsych after getting a high score for that component in 1st year. I started to, as I did 2 years before, make plans. I would be in Honours by 21, finish Masters by 23, practice at a hospital for 5 or 6 building client base and move on to private practive by the time I was 30. I would marry someone somewhere along the line and life would be good. I'd own my own M5 and go for drives in the city. My family would retire in Queensland and I'd visit them every now and then. I would go overseas and work, maybe back to Hong Kong, or Singapore. Or maybe even the US.

Plans. How futile.

at 21 I was doing work in a warehouse, having missed the mark into Honours. Don't rightly know why. Someone else had similar scores than I yet I missed out. Life happens I suppose. Never worry as I can just adjust my plans one year back. Nothing to worry about. and indeed I got in the year after, having done nothing academic for one whole year I found myself accepted again. My career is not over. Not yet. See? All the planning came to fruition. I got up and went in early for everything; I met up with my supervisor earlier than others, I went to seminars and got to know a couple of people as contacts, I went away and did my readings. I was eager to start. I was eager to show all of them who I am.

What I'd thought it won't be.

Who's to blame for the timetabling error that set me back three weeks of useful work? I missed the first three weeks of lectures. Who's to blame for the ridiculous amount of time spent behind the wheel travelling from one campus to another, and then to home? Who's to blame for my misunderstanding my supervisor and reading up too broadly for two weeks and having that work turn up useless? Who's to blame for my own family life, where suddenly I am the man of the house and I got this whole list of other priorities on my mind? Who's to blame that I was born incapable of multi-tasking and having a pre-disposition for ill organisation of time and tasks?

And now I stand at the threshold of yet another failure of my plans. I stand at the threshold of seeing life as I'd thought it won't be. Who's to know, right? Hah.

Don't take pity on me. There is nothing to be pitiful about. Life just happens. And there is nothing we mere mortals can do about it. What's new under the sun? History Boys had a brilliant quote for this: "Told'ya, history is just one bloody thing after another.".