Rambling in the afternoon

I want to be someone.

This'll most likely sound like drunken rambling, although I'm perfectly sober, but I want to direct and compose my life—write every single event, incident, heck, even the dialogues, and I am a person who prefers doing things impulsively rather than planning every separate thing.

Maybe that's the reason I enjoy writing so much—I can create my own little world, and anything can happen in it—because I am the author. There's no such thing as fate; each and every thing happens because I want them to, not because they should.

Screw playing it safe and doing what it expected from you, rather than what you want to do—your parents may want you to become a doctor or a lawyer, and I bet they'd love to be able to brag about your future Ph.D—but that doesn't matter! If they can't accept that you want to become a musician, actor or even a cashier at the local supermarket, then screw them.

If it only were that simplistic..

I am fourteen years old.

I have no idea what I want to become; which matters and goals to pursuit—hello, I'm only fourteen going on fifteen! I shouldn't have to think about such things—but I still do. It's a constant whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my head:

Gotta get good grades, get in to a nice university or college, get a decent job, make enough money, get an apartment, get married, buy a house, have children, raise children, take care of children, be a good consort, be happy—smile! I don't care whether you're clinically depressed or just having a bad day—you still have to smile; smile and every little issue of yours will solve itself.

But, I don't wanna live that life...

So? We don't care—actually, we don't give a crap. Life's rough, kiddo, no one's ever survived.

Well, I'm not that surprised. From the day we're born we're expected to do the greatest things—my mum even told me once that she expected to get grandchildren from me. I'm sorry—what? So that's what I am—a baby-machine? Okay, what if I tell you I'm gay, then; I can't have children the “normal” way, what are you going to do about it?

I live in Norway, and it isn't too bad over here—it's actually kinda nice, especially in my town; little to none major crimes and somewhat respectable citizens, but I'm still positive I don't want to spend my entire life here. Inside of me there's an itch to get out and experience the world—and I am more or less certain I don't want to be an inhabitant of this country when I grow up.

I want to move to the US or Great Britain when I get old enough—sometime after I've turned eighteen.

And since this entry barely makes any sense, I might as well say that I sometimes wish life was more like Amy Macdonald's song “This Is The Life”:

And you're singing the songs, thinking this is the life, and you wake up in the morning and your head feels twice the size. Where you gonna go, where you gonna go—where you gonna sleep tonight?