Earlier this week, my friend asked me to review his second short article criticizing a theater performance he watched and was disappointed with. Last night, he told me it has been published and asked me to comment on it. This morning, I read it.
It was an easily understood article. His arguments were strongly elaborated, his complicated and literally-translated terms were sufficiently explained, the article was introduced and concluded nicely... so overall, I think it was a good article. Surely it was, because it has been published.
Reading the article, I felt a bit nostalgic because, first, criticizing art (movies, books, etc) was what we did in college and it has been so long since I last did it seriously. Second, it was because my friend used the theory I had used as a tool in my thesis. That is, the adaptation theory by Linda Hutcheon. But that doesn't matter.
I also felt proud for him because he wrote something worth reading and even got it published. As far as I know, he hadn't wanted to be a writer or journalist, so I could only think that getting published was probably not his aim; getting people to know how he think about the play is. Hence, I was happy for him.
However, and this is so low of me, I feel kinda sad. I had been the one who wanted to be journalist and here I am, stuck with the job I hadn't wanted the most. And I envy him because he used everything he learned at college - not the grammar part, because he wrote in Bahasa - and got where he is right now. He looks like everything I want to be; everything I had dreamed of - not just a journalist, but also a critical one.
Considering what I have been doing up to now, I am nowhere near my dream of becoming a journalist. Nevermind the critical one. This got me questioning: is my dream dying now? Am I now too occupied with my job? I can't help thinking that way, because working as a full-timer really occupies my life, but no. That is not the problem.
To be completely honest, back when I didn't have a job (and was frantically looking for one), I didn't even think much of being a journalist. I hadn't applied for a journalist position - I had applied for editor or translator position because those were what I liked best. Even up till now. What's more, I hadn't tried to write anything critical and post it on some media. I hadn't used everything that matters that I had learned in college to create anything worth considering. During my vacant period, I had only been looking for a secure job. Something to guarantee a constant income so I can live from month to month.
It doesn't mean I was wrong. Being jobless for six months could really turn your head spinning, and we, the fresh graduates, were well-informed that not having a job means being a burden for your family, your country, and your own. We knew that we could no longer burden our family; we have been funded for 12 years of school, if not 16 years in total including higher institution. But most of all, we longed for that bit of independence. For standing on our own feet, paying by ourselves for everything, being able to treat the family that has been there for us. For starting from scratch by ourselves and creating our own rules for our little world. Having a job is the first step for all that.
So, yeah, probably my dream to become a journalist is dying. Has been dying for a while now. I exchanged it with the dream of being independent. So I got what I wanted. It's just that after three months and not liking what I do, I'm sorry for not trying more things before settling. Being a critical journalist, though could be a permanent job, needs more trial-and-errors. If not from applying directly to the media, it can start with what my friend just did.
Still, trying to look at things with positive outlook, what I'm doing can be seen as a trial-and-error. I am trying this out and so far the end results are errors, but that's okay because then I know this is not for me. Meanwhile, I can continue pursuing my other dream: to be a writer. Not doing what I like gives me enough time and will to do what I like best. That is, writing. And writing, especially writing fiction, has flexible hours.
Okay, some of my dreams are dying (or frozen, as I prefer to think it can be relived someday), but there are certain dreams whose pursuit means sacrificing other dreams. Nothing's wrong with that as long as you are fully conscious when you make your choices and you are aware that each choice has consequences.
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