We live in a fucked up broken world. As of right now, there are people starving to death while other people throw away excess food. There are people in countries dying of diseases that we’ve found cures for. Someone has been raped. Someone has been tortured. Someone somewhere has decided that enough is enough and ended their life. Someone just lost their home of many years. Someone had their lover cheat on them. Somewhere someone lies in a ditch dead with no one looking for them.
For the majority of my adult life, I haven’t believed in hope.
I saw it as delusion. Whenever my mother would hope for something, I’d always sigh. She was setting herself up for disappointment.
I thought there was no light at the end of a tunnel, only a long painful struggle with bright spots. Then you get hit by a bus and leave your wife to raise three kids and pay the mortgage. Even if things go right and you don’t die young, you watch your grandparents die then your parents die, then your friends die, and then you die
What hope could there be in our chaotic viciously violent world?
I was quite the Debbie Downer. I surrounded myself with cynicism which slowly became nihilism. I saw my life as purposeless. I wasn’t going to be remembered.
I’m not the smartest man. I’m not the richest. I’m not the best looking. I’m just a silly kid who likes complaining. I would be forgotten within two to three decades after my death. I thought that I was no one special and I could never be. I’d exist for 50 to 70 years and then I’d be gone for the rest of eternity.
But this ideology made my life feel like a waste of time. I couldn’t focus on my studies anymore. What difference did an A or B or C make in the grand scheme of things? I didn’t matter. Why waste my time trying at anything? It’d just be erased and invalidated the second I died. And that could be at any time.
I didn’t like this mindset. I didn’t have much reason to get out of bed when I thought my life was purposeless. I wanted to matter again. I reshaped my ideology and I left in room for hope.
It’s true that I couldn’t fight back the sands of time. I would grow irrelevant and forgotten once I was gone. But I could still do things that I find worthwhile during my time here. I could do work that I would be proud of. I had hope that I could figure out what this was before I died.
Recently I’ve figured out what I want to do. I want to drown myself in cinema. A movie takes years to make, but when it’s all done, it’s a beautiful thing to experience. On the big screen, we head off to worlds that existed merely in the heads of writers and directors before they put in work so the world could see. We see parts of the human spirit that we wouldn’t be able to experience otherwise.
I want to be one of those people who could make their dreams come out of their head for everyone to gaze at. I want to be a screenwriter.
Since I’ve figured that out, I can’t think about anything else. I still can’t focus in my classes. I just want to learn more about this crazy industry.
Am I deluding myself by hoping I can write movies one day? Maybe. The chances of success are extremely low. I’d say 1 percent of all people who attempt to become screenwriters get anywhere in the business. It takes years of dedication and learning to become a competent screenwriter. That’s not even a recipe for success. You still need luck even if you have all the tools.
I don’t have the advantage of a going to a four year film school or even knowing anyone in the industry. All I have is passion. It’s all I got.
I hope it’s enough.