Thought.

It was the writer's chat last week (September 15th) that made me seriously consider my life and how writing relates to it.

I've always been a reader. Forever and always. I've read viciously, even now. I've been doing art since the age of four. I just recently started writing. From that perspective, I've always been an art-oriented person.

But I haven't. I've always considered my future to be in science, not just because I'm Asian and that's what my parents said. I sincerely believed it. I couldn't see myself as an artist or a writer. I couldn't see myself as a journalist or a critic. I still can't. But for the first time in my life, I'm doubting myself and the path I'm walking on.

I enjoy the publishing world. I love reading GalleyCat, Publisher's Weekly and all the other news outlets about publishing. I really do. I can spend hours doing it (and I do).

I've always considered artists and writers to be hipsters or bohemians. I had an image of them as people who dressed, well hipster-like. I saw writers and artists to be idealistic people. Now, I find myself as one of them. I'm a hipster (I use that term lovingly) with my colored jeans and shoes with glitter. I am someone that I never saw myself as being. I don't know what to think.

I see writing and reading (and the whole general artsy side of me) as part of me. I don't know how it pertains to the future. Someone once said, "Pursue your dreams wholeheartedly." I don't know if I can. I can't give up that other side of me- that science-loving, number-crunching side. The rational side that needs numbers and hard evidence to function.

I don't know what I'll do. The two side of me are dueling right now, to see who would win, but I don't want to have a winner.

Both sides are essential. I am taking a deep breath right now and wondering. The future is so far, yet so close. Only I know what it'll hold for me and I'm so scared. So, so scared.

I'm listening to Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know" right now and I have an overwhelming desire to cry. I want to bawl out my eyes. I want to release everything- my frustration, my confusion, everything. This isn't somewhere only we know. I'm traveling to somewhere only I know, which is a 1000x scarier.

Forgive me, but I'm going to start tearing up and soon I won't be able to see the keyboard.

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Maira Gall