Confused Twenties

There was a time I thought I don't need goal. With intelligence and hardwork, I would achieve anything my heart set to. Dream, motivation and planning are reserved for lesser human.

I was at Primary 4. I was 10 years-old.

Now -- another lifetime for the 10 years-old me -- I've learnt, at least enough to know it was such an arrogant thought, based on nothing but ignorance laced with hint of naivety.

I understand enough what defines man, sets course to his whole life, boiled down to this simple, overused word: Goal.

Not many things worth the energy and time -- or more specifically -- my whole life dedication. Among those worthy few, I wonder whether the payback would be greater than sacrifice?

I wonder, while standing in the great gate of transition, whether I had the luxury of time to contemplate passion and courage to jump the risks?

I wonder if I could find purpose of life; and if I did, dare I, would I, could I give up everything to pursuit it?

And I tell myself: Welcome abroad from angsty teenage to the confused twenties.