My whole life I’ve always wanted to be interesting… as a child, I would play make-believe in my backyard. The house was cramped and always wrought with the yelling and screaming of mum and dad. The T.V was always on, playing some kind of Indian movie, and it was a rare moment to not hear the whistle of a cooktop go off or the high melodies of a South Indian Song. Sometimes all my little head wanted to do was be a little free… to be clear and to not be bothered.

That’s why outside seemed so appealing…the noise seemed so distant when it was blocked off by doors and brick walls, and while the smell of spices and sight of my family’s faces always brought comfort, being in my backyard seemed to be my sanctuary within a sanctuary.

On a good day, id sometimes just walk in circles, waiting for my imagination to cook something up. Eventually, id find inspiration from any book or movie id seen that week, and some sort of story would form.
Looking back, I’m amazed at how well I’d was able to see these things…the world in which your mind can create seems so much more appealing than the world your body actually lives in. I’d pretend to be an astronaut, using the underside of our BBQ as a Rocketship Cockpit…fiddling away at makebelieve knobs and buttons, pretending to break through Earth’s atmosphere at incredible speeds.
Other times I’d be an explorer, pretending my school bag was filled with mountain tools and heavy winter clothes, then climb our big gum tree like it was Mt Everest.

I used to think my childhood was spent more in the clouds than anywhere else…and I find myself asking whatever it is that pulls and pushes the universe to make out what we call our lives, Where did that kid go?

Was he to only live and die in child form, to make way for a new more boring version of an adult to step forward?

Was he too innocent and needed to grow into something old and more capable for the world around him?

Or Was he so enveloped in fear and shame that he decided to just leave it all to be mediocre?

 

 

As a young man trying to make his way, these are the questions I ask myself daily…but I think trying the figure out your own journey takes time and a lot of long uninterrupted thought. Both of which seems seldom on even a good day.

Rarely does one get a chance to sit and think about their life as what it should be, which I believe should be a dedication to whatever and whomever you love. Whether that be the art you choose to practice, the job in which work, the family to which you are born to or the partner whom you love.

 

But as someone who struggles with the very concept of love, dedication and passion, it’s hard to even begin to conceptualize what I’m going to do with my life.

Do I work a 9 to 5, get married and spend my weekends at my kid’s soccer matches?

Do I travel the world, meet amazing people and take on a string of lovers from country to country?

Do I stay home every day…with nothing but pen and paper, scribbling away a world that was birthed from my imagination?

Or do I do none of those things, work as I work now, eat the same foods, talk to the same people and continue a life of perceived simplicity?

 

I constantly struggle with these idea’s, each of which has its own level of appeal. The only reasonable solution is to try all of these things and find out which I like best…then go out and live it, day in and day out.

 

However, here in lies my biggest problem, I have always been stuck in the life in which I feel most comfortable.

I’ve rarely delved out of my comfort zone and I rarely have enjoyed the idea of what other’s may consider exciting. That’s not because I don’t want to ….more so, because I’m afraid to.

I’ve always been afraid of things I don’t know…I think as human beings we can all share in that. But my fear extends far beyond slipping and falling over once or twice…it goes as far as severely crashing and burning… Of mucking up my life so badly that I shame everything and everyone that has done any kind of good for me.

In my head, it comes down to one choice…one single decision that leads to a chain of events which in turn screw my life over…and that scares the shit out of me.

Before I started this, I was afraid of how I would be perceived, and as a result, my writing has been limited and caged.

I feared what people would say and of bringing negativity to something that was supposed to be a good thing, and rather than disregarding it, I chose to let it trap my work. I haven’t really delved out, explored new things or tried to actually do what it is I’ve always wanted to do.

This was supposed to be a space of creativity and yet I fear that it may become another cliché. A page filled diary that, although at times showed some kind of potential, will forever be a testimony of regret.

 

 

The truth is I don’t know. Maybe the damage is done…but a life filled with regret is a life not worth living. Because while I struggle with the idea of what to do next, there is one thing that keeps this alive.

 

The nightmare of laying on my death bed, waiting for the inevitable darkness and wondering…what if?

 

What if I just stepped out of my comfort zone that one time, tried something new and not cared what anyone thought?

 

What if I just left home and decided to roam the world, place to place, person to person?

 

What if I just posted that one story that I’ve been working on for ages,  a story from my own imagination from a world I created?

 

That haunts me more than anything. More than a little criticism and more than not being interesting. Not being able to somehow, do that little boy in the backyard justice. 

But the truth is that he might be long gone…and whatever remains of him, gone too.

Maybe the real world was too much for him, maybe he thought that being any of those things was impossible. Maybe the world grabbed his head from the clouds and beat him so far into the ground that whatever spark of fire that once lit him up now lay fizzled away in the mud and dust.

But regardless, one should still try, if anything to avoid that one dreaded question…What if?