Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately — I never really got cheers from others growing up.
When I told my parents I wanted to become a nurse, my father said, “A doctor is better.” When I said I wanted to be a lawyer, he criticised me again
“Why not judge? Why just a lawyer?”
Yes, I get it, Dad. You wanted me to dream big, to be ambitious. But at that time, all my hopes were rejected, one after another. After a few repeated patterns like this, I simply stopped telling them what I wanted, especially my father.
At school, we had exams in 13 subjects. The full mark was 1300. In one mid-term, I scored 1297. I was proud — so proud. I was at the top of the entire school. I missed just one question, and even that was a unit error in maths. I came home hoping to be praised.
Instead, I got an hour-long lecture. Why did I miss that one? Why wasn’t it perfect?
Yes, it was my mistake. But I’d hoped the rest — the 1297 points — would still matter. That I could be celebrated for what I achieved. I was 13.
After that, I stopped saying what I wanted out loud. The reaction was always the same.
Some people are incredibly skilled at finding worst-case scenarios, turning a small fault into a crisis, and dismissing anything good. Maybe someone thought criticism was motivation, but it never worked for me.
It hurts when the people closest to you become the loudest voices of doubt. I spent years standing against that energy with everything I had. It was exhausting. Frustrating. Sometimes it made me furious. Anytime I said I wanted to do something, I heard it:
You can’t. You won’t. It’s a waste of your life.
It wasn’t just my parents.
When I decided to immigrate, I heard the same chorus:
“You’re already too old.”
“Reckless.”
“You’ll fail and won’t find work when you come back.”
“Your parents are ageing — how could you abandon them?”
“You’re just running from reality.”
They didn’t say I was selfish — not openly — but the message was clear.
And I got it, I really did. Many of them wanted the same thing. They just weren’t brave enough to try, so they wrapped their judgment in the language of concern.
I could understand that in my head. But my heart couldn’t accept it. None of them had the right to speak to me like that. Even if I had failed, it would’ve been my failure — and more importantly, I didn’t fail.
I settled in this country. I’ve built a life. And now I’m chasing another dream: to be a writer.
I’m tired of fighting negativity.
Sometimes I get angry at myself. Why are there so many negative people in my life? Is it me? Butterflies go to flowers. Flies go to shit. So what am I? Why do 8 out of 10 people always respond with the worst first, the moment I say what I want?
But one of the most important people in my life supports me. He gently nudges me to write a thousand words a day. He set up a new desktop and monitor in my attic. He simply says,
“Do it, if you want to.”
That’s what I wanted to hear when I was a child.
I still get hurt when people say I’m wasting my life — because I’m writing a novel, or working on this site. I haven’t quit my job. I’m still working corporate during the day. I’m just writing at night.
I’ve never agreed that pursuing a dream is a waste. That doing what I want could ruin my life.
I’ve stopped trying to argue with negativity — it’s a waste of energy.
I shut it out.
And I write.
I just write.