It all seemed surreal. I looked around but I couldn’t believe that this was really happening. I stood there thinking, holding tight the crumpled sheet of paper in my hand .
“I quit”, I said it out loud to no one in particular. I had put my life and soul and what I got in return was nothing. I know life isn’t according to your expectations, but well maybe a little good coming out of all the work you’ve done wasn’t too much to expect, isn’t it? I had dreams. Dreams to make it big. I’d landed a job right after college. I’d put in my heart and soul all these years to get the job. Time flew. The job wasn’t as per my expectations. I ended up doing nothing great, learned nothing new and then maybe for the first time ever in my life I felt like a failure.
That is when I resorted to writing. May be I could write and feel good, maybe I could write and earn some money or maybe I could make it big in the world of writing. I’d always dreamed of it as a kid, so why not make it reality? I looked forward to the evenings where I would spend my time typing out the zillion ideas buzzing in my head. I was happy with it. But then working all day and then coming back to writing in the evening was tedious. I barely slept, I started feeling weak. My health started failing. I wouldn’t have cared about all of it if things went well but the stories that I sent to the publishers were all rejected.
That was the story that I’d written when I was in school. I’d left that story unfinished. It was just a story then, but now it the story of my life. Because that was exactly how my life had turned out to be. Had I written what my future would be like when I wrote this story? Did I have the power to write my destiny? But why then did I left the story unfinished? What would happen next? The story may have been just fiction. But my life, the way it had turned out just like the story seemed a lot stranger than fiction. But whatever be the case, wasn’t I the one who was supposed to write my destiny? I started writing again…