Regarding my recent struggles, I thought it best to journal this down, as a product of my own sanity. I am currently struggling with the concept of unemployment. The crevice through which I have to squeeze in order to find myself, to find a balance, to find a humility in my current situation is still alien to me.
I am exerting myself as well as I possibly can — with as meager results received as I can possibly harvest. Luckily for me, I still take up residence at my paternal home. However, unluckily for me, with each passing day, brother age continually reminds me that he is soon catching up with me. I am now as old as my father was when he begot me, but I am still a way off from his accomplishments and levels of success. My begetter is kind to me, he provides shelter and nourishment as long as I reside with him.
I feel at a heavy loss, the burdens created by my lack of employment both carrying me forth and breaking me down each passing day. I am a writer, my dream and passion is to become an influential writer at home and on the international stage. My previous employment could only manage to offer me the humble salary of thirty dollars a month, a small step in the rather lavish dreams I entail. I quit after working conditions refused to better themselves, my pockets wailing at the magnificent loss of six months and constant laboring. It was my first writing livelihood, and I exerted myself as well as I could.
Unfortunately for me, life may not be the best place to plant my dreams. But I am encouraged on by the famous writers of old, the ones who inspire me to pick up my pen each day, fighting on that the dreams inside me may one day become a reality. To be lifted up, and that one day I too may have the honor to lift others up in the same way. To encourage others to pursue their own dreams, to build infrastructures and systems that will benefit latter generations in the arts scene, just as I, too, am inspired by writers of yore.
