Chameleon

When I was six I had dreams of becoming a singer, belching out songs every morning on my component and jacking up the volume to ear-splitting levels.  After a few minutes of my vocal-breaking rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings the electricity would die down, a usual occurence back in the early 90s of Manila and the end of my so-called singing career illusions.

On that same year, I learned how to read and believed that Alice (of Alice in Wonderland) was someone I wanted to become.  This all came about when my grandmother had given me her hardbound copy of the novel by Lewis Carrol.  I begged my mother to get me a white and blue dress and had stupidly fitted myself inside a small box, pretending I was anywhere near the misfortunes of growing unusually gigantic as Alice did.  When that didn’t work out, I placed the book on my bed, stepped on it, and did a balancing act while it wobbled onto the mattress.  At that moment, in my head, I was surfing the waves of Hawaii.

A year later, as I finally got a good hand at reading and moved on to Nancy Drew, I wanted to tackle my own mysteries.  I got a notebook to write my case files and had envisioned family members as suspects to the gruesome death and conspiracy I was brewing in my head.  When I found out that I had no knack with sleuthing I picked up a pencil and started to draw; it was time to bring out Picasso in me.

I don’t know how many times I did this.  If there was anything, I think I was a great chameleon.  I think I imitated everything I touched and came into contact with.  As a kid, this was understandable, after all every kid is entitled to go as wild with their imaginations as possible.  But now, almost two decades after that, I’m still imitating life.  I am still shifting from one character to the next, jumping from one failed attempt to the other.  Being optimistic about it, one could say at least I’m still trying.  On a sour note, I can’t believe I still haven’t found that one thing I’m supposed to be.

What if I’m supposed to be a Jack of all trades?  The thing is, I don’t want to be that.  I want to have a specialty, be an expert.  But knowing myself, I always need that change of pace.  I always want to learn new things.  I guess this time, instead of bailing out on them at the first failed attempt, I should not let my fear get in the way of things.  I know I wanted to write and still there are reasons that stops me dead on my tracks.

I need to believe in myself first and I don’t know if I can.