For the past few years, I’ve been wanting to write a novel. When people ask me what my dream is, usually I’d tell them that it’s to become a professor, but other times, I’d tell them that it’s to win the Man-Booker Prize. It is far off dream, I know.. But the problem is that I haven’t started a bit on my novel. In fact, I hardly have in mind any ideas. All I do is to keep writing these short blog posts, complaining that I have no ideas, and lamenting the loss of the dream. I tell myself that these are practices, to keep the mind sharp and the words at hand. But really, the real goal is drifting away. Sometimes, I succumb, admitting to myself that I will never be good enough to write a brilliant novel, and then succumbing to the fate of a casual office worker, plowing through worksheets just to earn an average salary. I don’t really know what I want anymore. The current is so strong that I feel like letting go, and it’ll set me adrift like everyone else.