My brain told me to turn away. To take science with a grain of salt and focus on the arts. The grass agreed and sung that my fingers were made to hold brushes and pens not chemicals and flasks. I told them to give me some grace. That I am not made of paint and creativity, my insides shake with the urge to be wealthy and my palms have swiped through too many textbooks to be soft enough for sculpting or sewing. I have been hardened by life and the only thing that fills this void is the knowledge that I can leave it all behind.

If I make enough.

If I swallow chemistry and let math make a fool out of me then I can have a better life where I don’t think twice about half this shit anymore. And I know that this is a selfish endeavor, studying medicine for the sake of profit has never looked good on anyone, but I am so unextraordinary that I have no choice. Maybe in another life I don’t care as much about financial stability and I am somewhere in Bali drinking tea with other sinners of my generation; but in this life I can feel that i am not meant for that kind of freedom. That is not the path i see myself walking. I wish it was, I wish I didn’t have to understand things that I believe make no sense, I wish I was an art major and had friends who are poets and playwrights, but I am not. And I can make a wish to be, but science tells me that even those are impossible.

Truthfully, science knows everything. And they never shut up about it, theyre always speaking on the world and its problems and its exhausting. Im so desperate to escape and they are so desperate to indulge. Maybe thats why science has been such a drag to listen to lately; and perhaps it always was.