Lair of Flying Green Song Rabbits

I downloaded The Notebook to watch again.

I cried. Again.

It's so sad, I swear it's got to be one of the greatest love stories of all time. Too bad the novel by Nicholas Sparks isn't as good - it sounds so emo. This is one occasion where the film is better than the book.

I recently read a post on my irregular blogroll concerning jobs.

If there were no repercussions, security and finance didn't matter, what would you be? What would you do?

The blogger said she would be a journalist. She would expose The Truth about problems in the world such as third world struggles, child abuse, etc.

I scoffed.

Which was a natural reaction, coming from me, because I am so grounded into the demands of society that I can't help but always have a conscious finger on earthly (or shall I say societal and cultural?) boundaries.

I would be an artist.

I would both sing and paint, both meanings of the word "artist". I would be a creator of beautiful things.

The canvas I bought weeks ago is still blank. I promise I will paint during my mid-semester break. I owe it to myself. I owe it to my soul. I owe it to the person I was when I was 10, and all I wanted to do was create and revel in praise, admiration.

Yes, I would be a composer. I would sing neo-opera/symphonic at the top of my voice, just because I can and I love it.

It took me pretty long to realise my "true calling". Something that disregards rationalisation - and we all well know how rational and realistic I can be. I only discovered it moments ago; I was walking home with Viletta on and found myself singing on the street. I reached Nobody's Home by Avril Lavigne (after a string of Lavigne songs) and found I could put my voice in the words.

I found myself on the verge of crying because of a song.

And I loved that feeling.

I will paint. I will sing.

But lets be reasonable here.

(For those who have never watched the movie, you probably don't understand the double meaning in the post title.)