I am utterly lost when it comes to finding my life’s purpose. But I have an abundance of excuses—I’m not yet an adult, I’m still in high school, and none of my peers have a clear idea either… I lived like that for a few teenage years, until I turned 17 and realized that adulthood is going to open up before my eyes before I can grow up. That’s when I began fearing the impending challenges, dilemmas, and countless decisions—each one will slightly bend my path towards its ultimate direction. But I don’t believe in fatalism, thus I can’t rely on the thought that whatever I do I’ll end up in the same position. So I’m even more petrified by my imminent adulthood.

One thing that I am certain of is how I’ll aspire to live—how I hope I’ll aspire to live. I hope when I’m on my deathbed, I won’t regret how I chose to exercise my talents, enrich my soul, and throw myself into the vast universe. I hope I won’t let my temporary fear of anything get in my way. I hope I will lost some characteristics and gain some on the way—preferably I’ll still be an ambitious dreamer looking to induce change, and possibly I’ll be more clear-minded and recklessly dauntless?

Then I remember an English lesson we had at school. The teacher asked for aspects we’d consider when choosing a job position in the future. My initial reaction was of course to list some answers in my mind: whether or not I like the work, whether or not I can exercise my passion and talents, if I’ll be working with a team or independently… Some students stood up to answer, and every response, to my dismay, was so different from mine that for a second I wondered whether my parents had raised me up the wrong way. Here’s what some of my peers care about most: social status, social welfare, vacation time, salary… What disappointed me the most was our teacher’s conclusion of the discussion: good, you are concerned with salary and status… She didn’t mention anything close to the notion of passion. Is that how all high school students are being educated?

Not all teenagers are capable of filling their minds with these worldly ideas. Every kid grew up fantasizing the pursuit of  bizarre dreams. Every teenager was once a kid, and every teenager will grow into an adult. So maybe it is true that each child is a miniature reflection of his/her parents. Nowadays adults are so sensitive when it comes to putting ideas into the minds of children—has is ever occurred to them that they are the ones planting weeds in rich soil?

Maybe I’ll grow cynical over time. I might look back at these random thoughts in the future and mock my younger self: so young, so ignorant, too dreamy… But when else will I be so hopeless a romantic?

Hopefully my whole life.