Human lives in regret. I have made maybe a hundred regret and I never chose to do any of them. I may be doing my most regretful choice right now, sitting in Starbuck downtown Jakarta, writing and having one of the time of my life, going against the wind and the dream I am in.
All of my life, I've been trained to dream of being a doctor. I've lived in hospitals because of my sickness, acquainted by several doctors, got lost and ended up in the morgue (and insanely, feeling fine by the smell of delayed decomposition and the chill of the metal desks), going through an asylum with jails in it, with insane person in each one, managing to smile and stuck briefly to my auntie (who's a psychiatrist). My grandpa is a famous obstetrician and he did almost 5 c-section surgery everyday. I've lived with an eye that, being a doctor works. Being a doctor will make you rich, and you do believe that money is the thing to make you happy. They're all true. Until I started writing. I believe it was.... 2005? 2006? I don't remember. I made a juvenile short story called 'The Andrews Girls" and it's about ten or seven girls living in one house to study. They drink alcohol and have boyfriends, went to parties but still, achieving great grades and looking pretty. See, the impossible things in life. And I continue working with my writings, by reading more, until my things now are influenced by the early work of Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf's life. I like writing, and I want to make writing a career.
When I thought, oh, the war I'll get in to is maybe just writers block and misinterpreted imaginations, I was wrong. My parents are denying the fact that, I love to write. I love to inspire people with the choice of words of mine, and the language and the contrary I build against this cruel, feud world to live in. They just wanted me to be... Different. They didn't want me to be the name they saw under the big headlines, they want me to be the headlines (Something positive, I supposed?). The passion I have in my mind was never understandable for them, and sadly I got nothing to prove that... I want to be a writer. I want to report things and go to the field, writing about the irony about the quality of education the nation had.
In years, during my Mom's marriage at the year of 2011, my stepdad enlightened me. He switched my mother's mindset that being a doctor is not that promising. He wants me to be a business woman, a manager, studying the science of micromanaging and closing a deal. This... I thereby accepted. But the sneakiness I've gained from watching too much Gossip Girl, I asked for an option of being a writer. Surprisingly, he bought me a macbook and pushed me to proceed with my literature love. And by this time, my Mom has changed her mindset too. She'll let me write as a career, if anything else fails. She used to believe that, hobbies and passion should be just hobbies and passion. But now, seeing people gained fortunes from expanding their love and passion, I believe she'll believe me to expand my love of writing and sharing things. I'm highly happy that she understood the burn I felt in my fingertips as I typed in sentences and pressing the delete button to repair, the smile I gain when people somehow are inspired with my words, the fact that I may change a person view and everything. I just wish that a) my stepdad didn't regret the macbook he gave me. and b) my mom won't regret the fact that she opened her mind and let me explore the world of writing.
So the key to avoid regrets... Is keeping promises, keeping your words, keeping everything that held you in. Rethinking everything should be always necessary. Lived as if today is the last day you'll live. If you ask me what my regret that still burning me deep inside,