dreams

When I was 8, I dreamed of food.

And then I became fat.

When I was 11, I dreamed of being a marine biologist. I loved everything about the ocean — its sand, waves and creatures — and would spend most weekends at the beach.

And then I learnt marine biologists made no money.

When I was 15, I dreamed of being a lawyer. Stories from my friend's father, coupled with James Spader's performance as Alan Shore in 'Boston Legal', convinced me it was the ultimate profession.

And then my legal studies teacher, in a fit of rage, told me I'd never make it — even though I was top of class.

When I was 17, I dreamed of being a director. Visually capturing thoughts, feelings and emotions made me feel alive. Even if I was a terrible actor — https://youtu.be/5dKlnPfkVvk.

And then my parents told me I had to get a 'proper' degree.

When I was 22, I dreamed of dating Selena Gomez.

And then Justin Bieber happened. Ugh.

When I was 24, I dreamed of living in London. The sights, the sounds and the sophistication truly captivated me.

And then I was told it was irresponsible.

I'm 26 now and I've stopped dreaming.

And it's all my own doing.

You see, I've always found an excuse. I have this terrible habit of shifting blame when it comes to my happiness.

I know why — I'm afraid of failure. And I'm doubly afraid of failing at something I'm truly passionate about it.

But no more.

I wanna dream.

And I'm gonna.

Because that, my friends, is the secret to happiness.

When I was 26, I dreamed of writing a book. And I'm f*cking doing it.