Nyata.

Nyata.

As dictated by Faranza Syns

"You're so lucky. At least you've found what you're good at."

"Wow, so you know what you're going to be? That's great!"

"You'll be the greatest author one day, Hanna!"

"Oooh, so you're gonna be a psychologist? Wow!"



Truth is, I don't know what I'm going to be.

I might be good at writing, but I can hardly line my stomach with words, can I?

Psychologist? Interesting.

But I don't know. I just don't know if I can do it.

There are times that I answer "author!" or "Psychologist/ psychiatrist!" with such confidence and passion that the clarity of my enthusiasm drowns out the doubts in my head. Those sneaky voices telling me to think twice, and think hard, because after this, there might never be a chance.

My passion has dried up.

I am lost.

Writing? I'm no good. Psychologist? What do I know about understanding humans? I say the most scathing things.

Exams? I'm never going to be good enough.

Debate?

Scholarship?

University?

Work?

Expectations beyond my reach?

Anything?

"You. You're weak."

Yes, I am. I suppose I haven't realised the truth of it until now.

I'm sorry for being me.