You know what I would really, really love, more than most things in this world?
Getting paid to write.
The thing about writing is that it's the one thing I love the most in life, even though I don't think I've managed to worm out of my perpetual slump/rut yet. Why do I update this journal/diary even when I have absolutely nothing to say, like now? Reason's obvious: so that I'd have an excuse to write something, however banal and unexciting the content.
The thing about writing is also this: I think it validates my existence, gives me a reason to live, hands me a niche that other people look for desperately all their lives but never find. It's also the one thing which I think I'm relatively good at, though the room for improvement is, admittedly, extremely vast; even gargantuan, if you want my honest opinion. It feels good to write something that loosely resembles poetry of which you're proud, ie. it does not induce vomit when you read it over, nevermind that such feelings tend to fade with time. I'm generally a very egotistical person, but when it comes to my writing, I self-deprecate like nobody's business. I think I'm talentless, I think I write nothing but crap, and I hate almost every single poem - and I use the word loosely - that I've written, save for this one. In short, when it comes to writing, I'm very hard on myself.
And that is why I think this passion is not just a fleeting, whimsical hobby that will eventually wear out its fifteen minutes; I think it's for life. There's something quite exquisite and intriguing about the written word, how brilliant writers like Julian Barnes and Jim Carroll weave intricate tapestries that imitate life with it, and how exhilarating it is to unravel the complicated patterns, tease it out thread by thread, until the heart of it is exposed, and then you finally understand. And I can only imagine how much more amazing it'd feel if the day ever comes when I can explain to a person why I use certain words, for what effect, for what purpose.
I don't think I have it in myself to choose Practical Economics over Literature; I love the latter too much. I can't live without it, and certainly can't live without writing. It is, after all, what got me through the lonely years of teenage angst, when it really felt like it were truly Me Against the World, as if I was important enough for the whole world to hate me, but you know how immature 14-year-olds can be, don't you?
My personal Holy Grail is this: Writing fluently in Chinese. Hopefully, I'd be able to brush my fingers against it one day, but I'm pessimistic about that.
I don't feel like going into it right now.
I just remembered that I have to buy another copy of "The Basketball Diaries". By Jim Carroll? Yes. He wrote something really beautiful in one entry about poetry; I wanted to end this entry with a quote from the book, but then I remembered that I have kind of lost it after lending it to some people.
That'd be the very last time that I lend people my precious Literature.
I still want to marry Julian Barnes...sigh.