Ode to The Time I Was Right About Our Existence | Chronicles Of The Young Immigrant Women
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When I was a little girl, I used to say my dream job was to be retired. I remember my Mom said it was impossible because this isn't a career or something that you go to college for. My Dad didn't say anything. Because he was already dead. It would be really weird if I had a memory of him saying anything about it. Anyways, I had arguments and I could convince anyone that this was my real vocation. "You don't know what you're talking about, my Grandpa is." Boom. They're done. But with time I've realized I needed a better and more stable plan for my future.
By the age of 13 I decided I was going to be a millionaire. Because in my head there were only two things I was capable of doing: nothing and destroying society. Yes, I was a very happy teenager, thank you very much. Everything changed that night when all of my friends were smoking pot and Lucas told me to give it a try. I've realized I didn't need that much money to be happy. I basically just needed a few bucks and a garden. And if you're thinking that I have changed my mind about that: you're completely right.
I have no skills for gardening. However, by looking for people that do have skills and a garden, I've gained one more ability: networking. Throughout my childhood I always did art. That funny little artsy kid that will paint your wall and draw you as a dinosaur with three eyes then give a TED Talk about it, was me. I was either impersonating people or grabbing my siblings by the hair to make them my puppets. But acting, singing, playing guitar and especially writing, wasn't a plan for me, I thought they were just part of my story.
I don't remember the exact moment I decided to accept that being an artist was the only thing I could do, but I remember clearly that people would try to convince me to go back to plan A: retirement. Deciding to live my life as an artist I was also giving up on plan B: having a paycheck. To make things a little easier for myself, I decided to immigrate. Why not? Like it wasn't difficult enough to make it in my own language and culture.
For a long time in New York, I could only put in practice the plan C: smoking weed. I did everything but the plan D: to live as an artist. Gladly, I've realized in the very first few months that I would be an artist regardless of how my life goes. I had to agree with myself from the past: it's a part of me. At length, I don't have any plans. And that's not because of a beautiful realization; though I have lots of them; and you should know plan C became a lifestyle; it's because of… the pandemic. Hell yeah, I know you thought you were finally reading a 2020 chronicle that didn't mention the quarantine. The truth is, I'm only writing this to say the entire world is doing exactly what I thought my future could be. Right now, we are learning how we are supposed to be doing absolutely nothing, society is being destroyed by us, all we can think about is getting high and suddenly everyone thinks they can live a life as an artist. I was right this whole time.