Do you trust me?

What would life look like if I dared to dream? Not just dream but dream big. A dream I genuinely love and get fulfilment from.

How I wish my circumstances would make it easier for me, to chase that dream that keeps me up all night.

“Come on Marina, our lunch break is almost over,” hollers Dina, snapping me out of my delusions. Just the thought of going back makes my body ache.

I hate my job. I really do.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that it pays my bills but damn. I’m not happy.

Is this really how it should be? Wake up everyday to the same routine that you dread and go back home feeling empty and lost?

How is this living? It’s funny how my coworkers think I’m so lucky to even do what I do.

I haven’t even introduced myself, my apologies.

I’m a girl in her twenties who is so tired of being told what’s safe and not. Yes, I did go to college and graduated with a presentable honors but I don’t really see myself in a corporate setting.

Or rather I just never want it. Ever.

My dad thinks striving for a Masters is the way to go. I can feel the disappointment in his voice whenever I tell him I’m still at my sales job.

He didn’t give me much of a choice anyway. I’ve had to fend for myself since college so I guess I just embodied the survival mode.

“What’s your long-term plan?” he would always ask.

But how do I tell him I’m a creative? How do I tell him that I want to monetize my love for words? That I want to be an author.

So I just lie, about the numerous rejected job applications that I haven’t been sending in the first place.

It's only four o'clock in the evening and I can’t wait to go back home.

My safe space.

I don’t really fancy being around people all the time. I don’t know what it is but my battery just gets depleted for some reason.

I really enjoy solitude.

I don’t even think it’s being an introvert at this point because sometimes I have an extroverted side to me.

Maybe it’s just my nervous system safety response, shaped by years of feeling unseen or overwhelmed. That’s why I’ll constantly feel the urge to run away from everything and everyone.

For instance, deleting all my social media accounts on a random Tuesday. Not because I’m going through something but because the thought of being unreachable feels like peace.

I bet you’re probably hearing this for the first time.

I don’t even know if it’s certain, I just bumped into it while scrolling aimlessly on my phone. That’s what escapism does to me.

Do you know how I can stop?

Sorry, I digress.

“Hi, I’m looking for something. Can you help me? Just something…that might be useful,” approaches this young lady.

“Of course! What are you looking for? Can you give me a bit more context?” I beam with awe, soaking in her undeniable presence.

As I offer my help and the conversation dies out, I’m left with a mirror reflecting back on my fears. The intimidation confronting the parts of myself that I’m always trying to suppress.

And guess what I do? Precisely that.

I brush it off instantly, too scared to sit in it. It’s not that deep, I’m just being dramatic. No big deal, right?

My mind checks out, counting down the minutes until my shift ends. Work was draining today. The sales were quite low and don’t even get me started on the ridiculous targets they set for us.

A sugar rush would be great but I can’t really afford it. That reminds me of my one final task for the day.

I look through my contacts and do the hardest thing for me; ask for help.

“Hey, I need a favor. Can you lend me some money? I’ll pay you back when I get my paycheck,” I beg Rowan on the phone, “Yeah, that would be enough, thank you so much.”

A defeated sigh escapes my lips.

I’m always living from hand to mouth. Borrow to get paid just to pay back the loans I owe.

And the cycle continues.

I get home, take a shower and eat the leftovers from my previous meal. It’s not even ten o’clock yet but I’m ready for bed.

The screen casts an eerie glow on my face as my thumb mindlessly scrolls through the infinite feed. Everything’s a jumbled mess but somehow comforting. My brain goes numb and for a little while, I forget about everything else.

And then, suddenly, the phone rings. It’s mom! I feel a surge of anxiety as its bright screen flashes with each ring.

I pick up the phone and mom’s voice is on the other end, a familiar mix of frustration and desperation.

“Hey Marina,” she says. And I can tell she’s already on the verge of tears, “Guess what your dad did today…!”

I feel a lump forming in my throat as mom’s voice cracks. I wish I could fix everything for her but I don’t know how to. I love her so much but why does she have to dump all this on me? I already have my baggage weighing me down. I listen for a bit longer, offering words of comfort until she starts to calm down.

“I love you too mom. Don’t worry about the money, I’ll try chip in where I can. Okay?” I softly reassure her. We exchange a few more gentle words before the call ends.

With my phone still clutched in my hand, I sit there in silence, feeling the weight of the conversation settling in. Suddenly, the exhaustion hits me like a wave. Surrounded by the darkness of the room, I let my thoughts consume me.

Why does life have to be this sad and hard? The question swirl in my head and I feel the familiar tug of depression creeping in.

No! This is not my story. I don’t want to be a victim anymore. I’m tired of being mediocre just because I’m too scared to jump. I want better for myself and I’m going to do what it takes. No one is coming to save me.

It all ends here. I’m chasing my dream.

Do you think I’m crazy to be leaving my job with neither a plan nor savings and taking a shot at something I’ve never done before? I know nothing about authorship let alone how to be one.

I have one month to figure out where my next paycheck is going to come from since I’ve decided I deserve better.

With a newfound determination, I test the waters, lying to my supervisor that I need to take care of an emergency.

Don’t judge me. We’ve all done this at one point.

The truth is I’m stalling. I’m not sure if I’m ready to quit but I know I need a break. The days pass but I still can’t bring myself to go back. The thought of facing the same monotony feels suffocating.

Then again I find an excuse to not report to work but my supervisor is just not having it. The ultimatum comes sooner than I expect.

“Show up to work tomorrow or you’re done,” his voice is stern.

I feel a rush of adrenaline as I weigh my options. It’s now or never. I take a deep breath and step into the unknown. Terrified but liberated.

I resign.

With that, I spend the next days devouring any research material on writing. I wasn’t aware it is such a big world on its own.

I think I know what I want. To be an author. The one that breathes life into stories, etched on one’s imagination. I want something stable, something long-term.

But most importantly, I want to be a blueprint.

Days of me soaking up every tip and trick turn into weeks. Still no hope, the rejections and dead ends just keep piling up. There are times when I question my decision.

When the doubts creep in and whisper, “What if it doesn’t work out? Now what? All this delusions just to be broke and jobless?”

But I push on, fueled by the possibility that it might work out for me as well. The journey is far from smooth but I’m determined to make it work.

Sometimes I discover something that I could try indulging in but it ends up being a ship that sails a different sea.

I don’t want to sell my soul just for a quick paycheck. I know I need it to survive but I’m content with just enough to get me to the next day. As long as I continue investing my time and energy in a craft that I align with, it's worth it.

I’m okay waiting a bit longer before starting to make the big bucks. That could be a decade, that’s totally fine by me. Because it was never about the benefits it comes with but the peace I embody when I’m in it.

I love the like-minded creatives I’ve met. The kind that are bound by no limit. The ones who articulate exactly what’s hidden in your heart with no words to express. Just raw feeling.

I hope I don’t drown for wanting to get to the other side.

And I know what you’re thinking.

Probably, “Marina, the grass looks greener on the other side because you are not watering the one you’re on."

But what if I tell you that the grass is not just greener. It’s non-existent elsewhere. There’s nothing but sand all across where I’m standing. So yeah, I want to get to the other side.

Desperately.

It has always been in me though, so how can I fail? Even if I fail, what’s the worst that can happen?

I’m not scared anymore because I realize I have nothing to lose since I have nothing in the first place. Just a void of survival and false security.

I hope you jump in as well and find your truth. If you’re still skeptical, it’s okay.

I’ll swim against the tides as I ride the waves and you can watch from the shoreline to determine that’s it’s actually safe to dive in as well.