I am in the midst of trying to get through what feels like an endless pile of homework. Two books to catch up on, writing that needs revision and short stories to edit for my fellow classmates. It's difficult being a college student, but I'm sure the reward at the end of it all is worth it. The reason I feel compelled to write a blog is so that I can work on my writing style. I also hope that this gives me room for improvement since I am currently studying English in the hopes of becoming a better writer.
When I tell people that I'm majoring in English, the response is always the same. "Oh, are you going to be a teacher?" they say. It never fails. "No," I reply. "I want to be a writer. I want to write novels." I'm not trying to chastise teachers, but I don't feel that being a teacher is my calling. I also wish that people wouldn't automatically associate English with teaching. I love learning it and am fascinated by my professors and their ways of interpreting novels, but I don't see myself in their position. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I've always been afraid of speaking in front of people, let alone making friends with them, but that's another story that I will leave for later. My main point is that I love reading and I love writing. Until this semester, I've discovered just how much work it is to actually create stories and engage your readers. It's a lot harder than one thinks. You don't just read a novel, you engage yourself in it. And you don't just write a story, you create the story. If that makes sense.
Thinking back to when I first started college, community college that is, I remember how confused I was about deciding what to major in. Should I choose a major that will get me a high-paying job and keep me stable? Should I major in something my parents want me to? Should I just quit college because it doesn't seem to be for me? These were all questions I had. I was completely lost because I didn't know what I wanted to do. I was doing what everyone else was saying I should do. I thought and tried to go after becoming a veterinary technician because of my love for animals; science was far from my mind at the moment. When that didn't work, I thought about film. "That sounds interesting!" I thought. However, my course in scriptwriting/storyboarding didn't spike my interest. Then I thought about psychology. "No, that involves science." I went through a list of possible careers for me, but none of them interested me. There was always something that got in the way, be it science, math or time and money, which I didn't have a lot of. So at the end of it all, I chose English. Why? Because deep down, that is what I had always leaned towards. Even in an old high school paper I found the other day where I was choosing the classes I would take in my freshman year, under the question that read "Career Plans," I wrote down in big, sloppy letters, "Writer." Even then I knew what I wanted to be. It was almost like I was looking into the future.
So am I happy with my final decision? Yes and no. I'm not going to lie and say there aren't times when I regret my decision. I often struggle finding my way with words and trying to write coherent, well-thought out sentences, let alone building strong arguments in my essays. I'm constantly putting myself down and comparing my writing to that of other students. But when I think about it, I can't come up with another career that I would have chosen over English. It just seems fitting. It's difficult, yes, but it's also fulfilling. I guess that's how it is with just about any major. We all have our doubts, but when we reach our end goal, I'm sure it's well worth all the pain.
When I tell people that I'm majoring in English, the response is always the same. "Oh, are you going to be a teacher?" they say. It never fails. "No," I reply. "I want to be a writer. I want to write novels." I'm not trying to chastise teachers, but I don't feel that being a teacher is my calling. I also wish that people wouldn't automatically associate English with teaching. I love learning it and am fascinated by my professors and their ways of interpreting novels, but I don't see myself in their position. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I've always been afraid of speaking in front of people, let alone making friends with them, but that's another story that I will leave for later. My main point is that I love reading and I love writing. Until this semester, I've discovered just how much work it is to actually create stories and engage your readers. It's a lot harder than one thinks. You don't just read a novel, you engage yourself in it. And you don't just write a story, you create the story. If that makes sense.
Thinking back to when I first started college, community college that is, I remember how confused I was about deciding what to major in. Should I choose a major that will get me a high-paying job and keep me stable? Should I major in something my parents want me to? Should I just quit college because it doesn't seem to be for me? These were all questions I had. I was completely lost because I didn't know what I wanted to do. I was doing what everyone else was saying I should do. I thought and tried to go after becoming a veterinary technician because of my love for animals; science was far from my mind at the moment. When that didn't work, I thought about film. "That sounds interesting!" I thought. However, my course in scriptwriting/storyboarding didn't spike my interest. Then I thought about psychology. "No, that involves science." I went through a list of possible careers for me, but none of them interested me. There was always something that got in the way, be it science, math or time and money, which I didn't have a lot of. So at the end of it all, I chose English. Why? Because deep down, that is what I had always leaned towards. Even in an old high school paper I found the other day where I was choosing the classes I would take in my freshman year, under the question that read "Career Plans," I wrote down in big, sloppy letters, "Writer." Even then I knew what I wanted to be. It was almost like I was looking into the future.
So am I happy with my final decision? Yes and no. I'm not going to lie and say there aren't times when I regret my decision. I often struggle finding my way with words and trying to write coherent, well-thought out sentences, let alone building strong arguments in my essays. I'm constantly putting myself down and comparing my writing to that of other students. But when I think about it, I can't come up with another career that I would have chosen over English. It just seems fitting. It's difficult, yes, but it's also fulfilling. I guess that's how it is with just about any major. We all have our doubts, but when we reach our end goal, I'm sure it's well worth all the pain.
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