Kiana

This week, I’ve been thinking about the possibility of going back to school. The possibility of a fresh start and, in my case, a second fresh start.

My grandmother told me to return to academia now because “one never knows” when she’ll “depart from this realm.” Since she is the one financing my college education, she’s afraid I won’t be able to graduate once she’s gone. She’s all I have, really. I reflected on what she said for a whole night and got all anxious about it. The following day, I set my decisions on the ground and let them run with me.

I’ve been eyeing a fine arts college near my place and went there four days ago to ask for the course overview. I got interested in the Visual Communication major, since it involves photography, and photography is my second true love, next to writing. As anxious as I am, I did not enroll right away and excused the delay in enrolling as time to think things through. Long story short, I did not enroll in that fine arts college.

I keep assuring myself that there’s nothing wrong with me, but I know the solution will come only once I acknowledge the problem. I know this. Yet, somehow, I don’t appear to know the point of applying this truth to my own life. I’m all brainwork and mindwork; I don’t generate enough energy or vibe or force to bring to life what I have learned and thought about. What is wrong with me?

This delusion—of my being ready to go back to school—is crippling me. I know that. Yet, somehow, I keep going, keep waking up to another day, keep drinking the usual morning coffee, keep reading the same pages of my journal, keep going to work, keep breathing. Rinse, repeat.

When did I learn to stop living? Since when did I not have a life?

I torment myself so much with all this brainwork. I guess there are things in life that do not require deep, philosophical thinking. Sometimes you just have to take one leap of faith; let the disk of risk run its course; trust blindly and head into the void. Rinse, repeat. ♦