I’ve been putting it aside for a while now. Other activities demanded my time and I chose to say «no» to it so I could say «yes» to what also matters to me. And I missed it. So much so that I began to question my choices for the future. My love for foreign languages and other cultures is strong but stronger is my need and desire for the written words. Stronger is my need to read and write and share. Meetings with a school counsellor helped to shape the next steps on my path to fit my needs and desires better. The person I am today. The person I wish to be.
I’m not exactly sure who I wish to be, honestly. But I find there are some parts of me that, if denied for too long, scream and shout and I feel myself becoming hollow everytime I tell them «later».
I don’t know who I want to be but I know what’s important to me. Literature and writing are more important than learning new languages. I still have the goal to be fluent in at least 5 different languages before my life reaches its end. Maybe even 7. But learning those can wait. I still have time.
I want to write. I want to read. Poetry. Novels. Biographies. Fiction and non-fiction alike. Uni taught me this. It’s going to teach me more. I chose a bachelor in literature. Both French and English. I’m lucky to have access to such a program here, so I don’t have to choose between two languages that hold my heart in their own ways.
I know I don’t need a degree in literature to be a writer. But I do need one to be a literary director. A translator. Any other jobs that will not only bring food on my table and a roof over my head but that will also bring me joy doing it. Because that job will be so closely related to words, written by me or by others. Probably both. I am a writer because I write and I share my writings. But I’m open to be so much more.
I don’t know what I’ll be. I just know I’ll be happy.