for what it's worth.

I'm sitting here eating cheap chocolate fingers from Mustafa Centre. it's now 12.14 a.m, and my sister just got back from work. that's right- work. we're in the living room typing furiously looking shit tired like we could die. sometimes she asks me if it's ever going to be worth it, this working-too-hard-getting-money-but-still-somehow-not-happy lifestyle, and honestly I wonder too. in four years I'll be working with the media industry just like her, so will I be coming home late at night every night, working on Sundays at the expense of other things that used to make life so much simpler? and happier?

I always say, as long as I'm happy. I'm quite happy now, maybe even contented. but I'm terrified of growing up and maybe getting jaded of something I honestly love to do. but I don't want my life to be defined by a job, I don't want my own self to be defined by the things people expect me to do because of that job. do you even get to draw a line when you're an adult? are we expected to take it all in, the good and bad and separate those at our own time, while maintaining balance in every single thing we do? how do we get to know its worth? you'd think getting a dream job would make you happy. and then Reality comes by and kicks you in the crotch and gives you a Super Wedgie.

sometimes I get so sick of studying because I think the man I am to marry is probably going to make me quit my job at 26 anyway. then I hate myself for thinking that way because I shouldn't have been so stupid to marry Hypothetical Husband in the first place. is it too early for me to worry about the price of happiness? get your dream job, 20 points. come home late because of your dream job, minus 5 points. come home late for a whole week because of your dream job and miss your mother's birthday, minus 50 points. before you know it a whole year has passed, and you wonder what you were so happy about in the first place.

damn all you civil servants who work 9 to 5.