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franceslievensSome days are better than others, but on most of them I ask myself just one question: "What the hell am I doing here?" As if the correct answer would give me a deep existential knowing and meaning to the rest of this bloody mess I'm turning my life into. I just tag along for the ride, not making decisions and afterwards I wonder if this is what I want and the answer is mostly "No, it isn't." So how did I end up here again? I kind of found a ring somewhere and suddenly am trampling up a moutain. Just put in "job" for "ring" and "a hundred or so kids" for "mountain" and it will be all clear.
See, I seem to like teaching. Sometimes. And I also hate it. Sometimes. And most of the times I think: "It's just a job. It pays the rent, the food, the clothes, the computer." I want more than "just a job". I love writing too much to not want to do this. I love learning too much to give it up so easily for a teaching job. There's so much I want to learn before I can even think of teaching and there is so much the kids don't know, but it is old news to me. Why always having to teach the same? Can't they make brighter kids? Clone the bright kids and throw the dumb ones down a cliff?
At 25 I look at the world and see it as a creaky old merry-go-round with tailless ponies. I'm on it, doing the same old round over and over and over again. I dreamt that I would be someone, but it's for me as for others: same old same old. So I'm looking for an opportunity to get off the old trampled route. I want to hack my way on non-trodden paths!
And then I get scared again. My life isn't such a mess after all. It's all well organised. It's fun. I have a couple of friends, a loyal boyfriend. But I want more. I've always wanted more and I've never been happy with what I did, how I performed. It's the thing that's eating me up inside: never ever will I have the courage to say that what I did was awsome. I will, by default, be insecure about me and it's slowly driving me insane.
See, I seem to like teaching. Sometimes. And I also hate it. Sometimes. And most of the times I think: "It's just a job. It pays the rent, the food, the clothes, the computer." I want more than "just a job". I love writing too much to not want to do this. I love learning too much to give it up so easily for a teaching job. There's so much I want to learn before I can even think of teaching and there is so much the kids don't know, but it is old news to me. Why always having to teach the same? Can't they make brighter kids? Clone the bright kids and throw the dumb ones down a cliff?
At 25 I look at the world and see it as a creaky old merry-go-round with tailless ponies. I'm on it, doing the same old round over and over and over again. I dreamt that I would be someone, but it's for me as for others: same old same old. So I'm looking for an opportunity to get off the old trampled route. I want to hack my way on non-trodden paths!
And then I get scared again. My life isn't such a mess after all. It's all well organised. It's fun. I have a couple of friends, a loyal boyfriend. But I want more. I've always wanted more and I've never been happy with what I did, how I performed. It's the thing that's eating me up inside: never ever will I have the courage to say that what I did was awsome. I will, by default, be insecure about me and it's slowly driving me insane.
