I can tell the day is still fresh even though I woke up late. The man in front of me, ordering a triple shot late, is without any wrinkles in his business suit. There’s something about him that’s different from the ones back home. The stripes on his back are bold thick black lines that glow with a grey outline. When he puts a hand in his pocket the pants hug a hard body.
He pays for the coffee. I pay and sit down to start my homework. Only two minutes later my eyes end up studying a couple in the corner of the cafe. I figure this is as good a time as any to daydream about my future.
I decided to enroll myself back into college but still am without a goal in mind. Like a trophy or Academy Award, maybe it’s easier to go through the motions of labor when there’s the possibility of a reward. Except, I’ve been in that frame of mind before and it got me nowhere. If anything I feel that this blog has reaped more possibilities out of my future than school ever has. I discovered newspapers that are looking for my point of view. I’ve opened up about myself for the good and bad, and I’ve learned more about myself.
So what do I want next? I want to finish school just to finish it. A bad grade can be a bad grade but that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned anything. Don’t get me wrong I still care but it’s different than before. I don’t think school has all to offer. I have all to offer if I just keep trying. Maybe some people envision romance or a fancy suit for their futures but I want my writing.
There’s something tough about writing a piece at home vs writing a piece not at home. Maybe it’s the condition of being alone. When there’s people around I find my thoughts navigating about the cafe, the park, people’s heads, and into the clouds where there’s a plethora of ideas. At home there’s just the roof.
This week I’m reading “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao” by Junot Diaz for a school discussion. Half way into the book and I find myself feeling for the character. I’m feeling pain, love, motivation, for the protagonist because I want him to live outside his state of mind. Depression is a condition that he has allowed himself to be put in. Then again there are so many variables in the story that allow to believe otherwise.
When I think of the “conditions” that have put myself here today there are feelings similar to that of which I feel for Oscar. It’s pains me to realize that maybe I give myself too much alone-time. Compared to my friends I would consider myself a hermit. Something I love about the story around me though is that I interact with imagination everyday.
His hand crept up and down the bookshelf in search of the right inspiration. Cover after cover he heard the echoes of warriors, villains, and romantic beasts. However, after much consideration he allowed his attention to be directed to another story, the one on his computer waiting to be written.
Writing is something I love to do. The motivation I have for writing though comes from all other outlets. For Oscar his inspiration comes from Sci-FI, games, amongst other nerdy things. Some of mine come from fashion, pop music, philosophy, and stories of pioneers. So while Oscar and I may be a little different or a little the same, reading the story has pushed me to take my life and read about it some more. So with that said I’ll be finishing my New York Story sometime next week.