I remember very easily the night I realized nothing would ever be the same. Relatively, it feels like yesterday, because it was; only the bad memories seem nearer to us than the good ones, often washed away like a message in the sand, never to be seen again.
I was staring into the mirror, standing straight and strong. It was the night of my 18th birthday. At the time I was home, taking a gap year between high school and higher education. Initially it was excused as a mean of financial disability, but I take time with my decisions. Nothing else deserved this much time.
I was at a crossroads. I wanted to be everything and foolishly believed I could. And I always believed myself to be the most mature amongst my generation, of which I thought to be mostly full of idiots and curs. Perhaps that was my curse; blindness and unawareness.
But then it all changed. It all came crashing down, if you will. I dug deeper and deeper into my own eyes and my own mind, trying to find the truth. It was also then I realized I would never find the truth, but the fruits the labor made were most satisfying. And so I took a step.
The singular step lead to another step, and another, and one more for good measure. Finally I began walking towards a clear direction. Even though I realized that this existence was nothing and I would have to stew in between the two important days of my life, as described by Jacques Brel, I made it clear to enjoy the intermission.
It is no use to let something, no matter whether it is inhabited with boundless talent or devoid of any skills, go to waste. Nothing should ever go to waste.
It was that night I decided to become a journalist. It was that night I became a man.