EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE

When I was younger, my mother once asked me what I wanted to become. I said, “I don’t have any dreams.”

 

While others answered confidently, doctor, engineer, pilot, I could never settle on one. My answers changed with the seasons: sometimes an artist, sometimes a fashion designer, sometimes a teacher, an archaeologist, a costume designer, an event manager, a businesswoman, and so many more.

 

Over time, I realized it wasn’t that I didn’t have dreams. It’s that I had too many to keep track of. Choosing just one out of the multitudes I’m capable of has always felt impossible.

 

Not to toot my own horn, but I know I’m talented, intelligent, and hardworking. I may lack street-smartness, but perhaps that only comes from walking through the streets and lanes of life itself, which I’m still yet to do.

 

Now, I stand at a threshold. My rational, mature side reminds me of the simplest advice there is: just start, and everything else will follow. And yet, when I try to begin, a flood of thoughts engulfs me.

 

I want to experience so many things. I want to try everything I’m capable of, everything that aligns with who I am and brings me joy. I want to know what it feels like to be truly fulfilled, to create, to be seen, to matter. I want fame. I want success. I want the kind of money that buys freedom. I want to be recognised, not just for what I do, but for who I am. I want to be one of the greats.

 

I want to be a good person.

Not a nice person, something I’ve confused with being good all these years.

I want to be good.

 

At the end of my life, I want my conscience to be clear. I want my soul to echo back to me that I have been good, truly, deeply good.

 

It’s often said that it’s easy to lose yourself to success, money, and fame, to lie to yourself and still believe you’re doing the right thing. But I want to have it all and still remain soft on the inside.

 

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been lying to myself. I’m tired of the maybes.

 

I want clarity, to know, with certainty, that through even the hardest decisions, I have been good.

Especially to myself, the one person I am often the worst to.

 

And I want love.

 

A friend once told me, “The greatest thing you can achieve in life is to love and be loved by someone.” By someone, I don’t mean family or friends, but that rare, unconditional, legendary kind of love, the kind that belongs in stories and movies.

 

I want to travel the world, see every corner of it, and experience the richness of different cultures and people.

 

And yet, a voice within me asks: do all these things really matter? Maybe the key to a happy, peaceful life is not in chasing these desires but in being free from them altogether. Maybe true enlightenment lies in letting go of all worldly illusions.

 

But I am twenty-two, in my youth, so to say. I have a long life ahead of me. Everyone says your twenties are for exploring, failing, and getting back up again. Yet I look around and see so many people who, at my age, already seem to have “made it.” They have jobs, paychecks, direction, a sense of certainty I can only envy from afar.

 

And I wonder: where do I stand in this vast ocean of people?

 

I try to remind myself that life isn’t a rat race, that if I compare myself to others, I’m technically a rat. But still, it’s hard not to feel behind at such a young age, as though I’ve missed a train that everyone else caught while I’m still standing on the platform, waiting for something I can’t yet name.

 

Some days, I believe there is no race, only the rhythm of my own footsteps. But most days, I forget.

 

I see all these interviews of great people and read the books they’ve written, and most of them begin their stories at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, as if greatness can only bloom early. It makes me wonder if I’ve already missed my window. I tell myself it’s better late than never, but these thoughts loop in my mind like a broken record.

 

I also know that I come from privilege, something I only began to recognise after meeting people whose stories were written on harder pages. I have a stable home, a good childhood behind me, a loving and supportive family, the means to meet not just my needs but many of my wants, a good education, and the freedom to choose my own path without the immediate pressure to marry.

 

There’s a line from a movie I once discussed with my friends, it says that God keeps taking from those who are good but holds their hand at the end, and keeps giving to those who are bad but eventually lets go. Sometimes I think about that. What if God has already given me too much? What if I’m the one he lets go of at the end?

 

What if the universe has already balanced my scales, that all this love, comfort, and safety were my share, and I’m not meant to receive the other things I dream of?

 

As one grows older, they say you become more practical. Life teaches you to choose certain paths, to work, to grow, and to find comfort in routine. They say there will be the boring, the mundane, the ordinary, and that this, in fact, is life.

 

But the mundane scares me. The ordinary feels like a cage. I want to be extraordinary. I want everything, everywhere, all at once. I want each day to feel like a novelty, something I’ve never lived before.

 

I know how it sounds, impossible, impractical, maybe even delusional. But I can’t help it. The idea of doing only one thing forever feels like being trapped in a single room when there’s an entire world waiting outside the window.

 

And yet, I remind myself that even in passion, 90% of what we do can be dull, repetitive, and exhausting. It’s the love for the remaining 10%, the spark, the thrill, the moment of creation, that makes it all worthwhile. That’s what we work for, what we stay for.

 

If I know all this, why do I still crave more? Sometimes I feel greedy. Even after having so much, I still want more, so much more, unimaginably more. And then I feel guilty for wanting it, as if my desire itself might jinx me. The more I chase these things, the more they may drift farther away.

 

But then again, what if the opposite is true? What if the very intensity of my wanting, this fire that refuses to dim, is what pulls the universe toward me?

 

What do I think? What do I believe? What do I act on?

 

My dad always says, “Aim to be the best in whatever you do. Hone your skill and craft, and success will automatically follow.” Easier said than done.

 

During one of my many discussions about privilege, a friend once told me that I should be grateful, that all of this gives me a safety net to explore. Even if I fail, she said, I won’t have lost much. She meant it kindly, but her words stayed with me.

 

My mother, on the other hand, often says she doesn’t see the same fire or drive in me that she sees in others. It pierces me when she says that and frightens me, too. How do you build a hunger when you’re already well-fed?

 

Sometimes I look at friends who come from less and think that maybe their lack is what fuels them, that their lack of options keeps them running. They call it survival. Mine, apparently, is the luxury to thrive. And yes, I agree.

 

Another friend once told me I keep feeling guilt and thinking about all the things I don’t have, just to feel something. It upset me, because it sounded like I was complaining about a life that’s already cushioned, as if with privilege I’ve forfeited the right to feel conflicted.

 

But even infinite options can feel like a problem. As I said, I have so much potential, and I don’t want to be someone who just always had potential. I’m a true jack of all trades, master of none. I see people who pick a lane early, master it, and move ahead with unwavering focus. Maybe they have clarity, or fewer ambitions, or maybe just one burning desire they’re willing to build their whole lives around.

 

There’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t know if I can do just one thing.

 

I’m made of multitudes, and often, it feels more like a curse than a gift.

 

The ones who choose early, develop steadily, and grow, they keep getting better, while I’m still wandering, still exploring, sometimes afraid I’ll be left behind. I know, in life, one has to choose: you can chase balance and work all your life, or hustle and reap the benefits later. But why must we always choose? Why can’t I have both, or at least, a version of both?

 

It’s not even “wanting it all,” because even my “all” has limits.

 

One of the things I often tell others, so much so that it became my line in the college yearbook, is “The journey is more important than the destination.” A version of it even made it into my graduation project: “When your heart is in the process, excellence becomes second nature”.

 

And I truly believe that. I cherish the journey more than the arrival. I know myself, once I’ve accomplished something, I rarely look back. There are always too many new things to experience to keep repeating the same one again and again.

 

Whenever I achieve something, it’s over for me; the joy lies in the pursuit, not the possession. Wherever I travel, I never go back, because there are a million more places waiting. That’s why, when I do get the chance, I take it all in, every sound, sight, and detail. I’m the kind of person whose plate is wiped clean after every meal, someone who researches every spot before a trip because missing out feels like wasting the opportunity.

 

Travel, for me, isn’t rest. It’s immersion. I even wear my clothes until my mother threatens to turn them into wiping cloths. I just don’t like waste, I need to get the most out of everything. And if that’s the case, why would I treat life any differently?

 

I often hear people discuss the idea of relevance, of being remembered. Some say it’s a futile pursuit, that legacy doesn’t matter, that living fully in the present is enough. But I can’t help it, I want to be remembered, not just by my family or friends, but by the world. I want my life to mean something beyond my small circle.

 

For some people, success means stability, a home, a family, a steady job. And I understand that in theory. But it doesn’t ignite me.

 

I want more, much more. I want to be and do so many things: to work in fashion and textiles, to sing and make music, write, and direct films. I want to dance, design, teach, photograph, and bake, all while staying healthy. I want to work with institutions that uplift people. I want to be the face of brands I align with, to understand what it truly means to represent something larger than myself.

 

I want to live abroad for a while, to see the world from a different lens. I want to spend time simply making art, for no reason other than the joy of creating.

 

I want to work on creating jewellery, beauty, and perfumes. I want to explore sustainability, act, model, learn new languages, and study psychology and philosophy. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

 

The more I think about it, the more I also wonder, what if none of it matters? What if it’s all just an illusion, fleeting and meaningless in the grand scheme of things? Yet even when I question it, the desire doesn’t fade. I still want to be one of the greats. I want it all, the Grammys, the Oscars, the Nobels, the National Awards. Maybe it’s greedy, maybe it’s impossible, but it’s real. It’s who I am, someone who wants to live a thousand lives within this one.

 

When I leave this world, I want to know I’ve left behind more light than I took, that in some way, I made the world a little better.

 

Being a Sagittarius, I’ve always searched for meaning in everything, looked for the deeper reasons behind why we are the way we are, why things unfold the way they do. And in this life, the only way I see myself truly understanding any of it is by experiencing everything I’m meant to, everything I want to.

 

I want the strength, the health, the confidence, the fearlessness to do it all.

 

And maybe, in theory, I know all of this, the doing, the wanting, the chasing, is vanity. That life is supposed to be about something deeper. But honestly, I don’t know what life is if not for doing all the things I want to do.

 

I crave to be the main character. To be the one the story is written about, the one worthy of a biography, why not a film? It’s not ego, at least not entirely. It’s more this ache to be seen, to belong, not to any one place or person, but to the world itself. To take up space, unapologetically. To be loved.

 

I crave it all.