The Product of a Week's Worth of Incarceration...

In case you were wondering, is me at this present moment in time.

Last Friday a small tickle had begun to scratch away at the back of my throat. By Saturday morning the tickle was gone, only to be replaced by a great, whooping chest infection that had me chained to my bed by the red cotton covers.

Yes, that may seem melodramatic and a little abusive of my descriptive powers, but the fact is I've had a week to sit and contemplate on my life. Waking up every day at 9 to take my antibiotic, paracetamol, day nurse and whatever else the doctor had prescribed me, meant that I had a whole day ahead to stare at a black ceiling.

On that black ceiling I saw a mural of a 16 year old girl who likes to read, write, play music and spend time with her friends. That 16 year old girl would one day become an English teacher in some British secondary school. And for the first time a small drizzle of anxiety began to pour down in my stomach, the incessant pitter-patter hammering against my insides.

Is that really what I wanted in my life?

I knew I wanted to help people. I knew I loved to teach. The feeling of imparting wisdom into young souls was something to be cherished in my mind.

But this nagging doubt asked me if I wanted to be stuck in school my whole life. Did I want to live my life in a set routine? A standard nine-to-five job? Yes, everyday would be different, but on paper it would be exactly the same.

The dream of being a professional writer has always been with me, stored in the back of my brain, and it always will be. I'm pretty sure it's the same for most of the people on this site. To be able to live in a shitty apartment that looks more like a converted 1 room library, books and papers scattering the floor, acting as a kind of iridescent carpet. To be able to spend days locked up in there, scrawling a masterpiece, that may not be well-received by so many, but would touch the hearts of those select few. And that was all that mattered.

And after days of tired contemplation and delirious hallucination I came to a conclusion.

I shouldn't have to make this choice at only 16 years of age. How on earth am I supposed to know which path to carry the lightweight rucksack of my life down? I haven't lived yet.

Yes, most 16 year olds think they know everything and anything there is to know about life. But the truth is we don't. And if you ask any self-respecting adult, they'll tell you they are about as clueless as you are.

So, what's my conclusion about the future of my life? Live each day as it comes and repeat my grandmother's mantra; 'Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.'