My favorite question to be asked was always, "What do you want to be when you grow up"?
Five-year-old me had it all figured out. I was going to be a ballerina, who would dance all around the world and live in a mansion in Paris. I would drink hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and cherries every morning and eat ramen every night.
Meanwhile, I would also be a dermatologist. At that time, I did not know what a dermatologist was, but one of my "older sisters" (not literally) was one and I thought she was beautiful. Besides, saying I wanted to be a dermatologist always made my mom smile proudly and my teachers laugh. It was also fun to see my classmates confused. When they asked me what a dermatologist was, I'd say, "A very important doctor". I was determined to be a special dermatologist- one that wears lavender gowns every day to work. The gown would be designed by me, who was also going to be a fashion designer. In my dreams, I could practically see my dress factory, with my lavender dresses, boots, purses, and hats making me millions.
But that was not all. Oh no, little me had big plans. I was also going to be a writer. Not just any writer, no. I was going to be the type that wrote with a lavender typewriter. My pen name would be Vienna, because I needed to escape the paparazzi of course. Every day, I would wear a fascinator, made of (yes,) lavender feathers and flowers and I would sit in my rose garden and write, write, write.
My friends' dreams were no less extravagant. One wanted to be an astronaut princess, which to us made a lot of sense. Another wanted to be a dinosaur. We all unsarcastically wished him good luck. I haven't seen him in a while.
The other day, I watched as a little boy talk to my mom. He was no older than three, had dark curls, bright shiny eyes, and flushed rosy cheeks. Eyes widening, he exclaimed excitedly how he wanted to be an astronaut and a bus driver.
That's unrealistic, I thought.
There was some sparkle in his large eyes that made me ask that same question to myself.
What do I want to be when I grow up?
It used to be such an easy question. But that day, I was stuck.
A dermatologist? Getting into med school and through all that training is hard. I have to wonder if I will be able to go through with it. Will sacrificing years of my life really be worth it?
A ballet dancer? I stopped dancing years ago. There was no way I could catch up now.
A fashion designer? My flair for fashion had gradually diminished as I preferred more vintage clothes that were not popular anymore. Having such a business would be unprofitable and unsustainable.
Maybe a writer. But, think about all the writers who died poor. Is this what I want? It's too unstable. Maybe a journalist? With everything going on, that might be dangerous.
I paused. For the first time ever, I didn't know how to answer the question. Then another question popped into my mind: When did I start letting being realistic limit my imagination?
I used to be anything but realistic and unimaginative. In kindergarten, I thought I could become the president of the United States by the time I was twelve. In first grade, I thought I could graduate from high school at the mature age of eleven. In second grade, I thought it would be plausible to become a millionaire by being a hotel concierge. In tenth grade, I didn't think it was practical to use sparkly pen on my notes.
Life has a way of nudging us toward practicality, and somewhere along the way, I let go of the lavender-tinted dreams that once covered my plans for the future.
Perhaps it's time to ask myself again that favorite childhood question: "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
While I don't have an answer to that question yet, maybe seeing that boy was a reminder to widen my mind. To be imaginative. To be creative. To dream big, but to remember that not all dreams will come true.
As college is nearing, I have come up with a list of things I want to bring.
My stuffed animals
Blankets
Toiletries
Posters
School supplies
My ranting journal
My dumpling night light
Baby photos
And last but not least, the spirit of my younger self, the one who dared to dream and had her ambitions be boundless. And who knows, maybe I'll find a way to infuse a bit of that magic into the reality of my grown-up world. After all, growing up doesn't mean we have to grow out of our dreams; it simply means we have the power to redefine them.
Cheers,
emma :)