Dream big they say. Dreams are everything.

When you’re little you want to be a frog or say the realist thing you’d want to be is a fireman. And at that age, that’s one of the easiest thing to achieve. But you grow up. No matter what, you have to grow up. The cruel thing about it is that you have to grow up. And dreams change as you grow.

As a teenager, you want to be a teenager so you go to college thinking you want to teach. And the thing about college is that you don’t get the experience you actually should. College does not prepare you for anything. I wish someone could have told me that.

I didn’t turn out to be a teacher after all. The months I spent putting together an entire binder to prepare me for my upcoming career had gone to waste after all. When you go out into the real world you are faced with pros and cons. It is not just classes and grades anymore. Your entire world relies on your pay, whether you are happy, in love or not. And trust me, these small things weigh more heavily on your shoulders than they actually sound, just as so many things are easier said than done.

I left home. My parents have practically disowned me.

“If you go then don’t call us anymore.” Was one of the last things my father said to me.

I’m the kind of person who want adventure. I want to travel. I want to live my life to the fullest. I want to seek out my full potential, because I am able and because I dream it.

I love art. I love drawing. I love comics. It’s in my blood. Coming up with my own storylines, making my own art, and watching it come alive before me makes me feel…whole, happy, content. I love it. I live for it. It’s my release. My happiness.

So I dropped everything and enrolled into art school. I met new people, but I was out of place. I did not feel the same as when I was in college with my friends. These people I met were new. I tried socializing, tried fitting in, it didn’t work like I thought because these people were so young compared to me. They were pure freshmen. I was a graduate returning to school with a change in major. I could still be considered a freshman but I was not truly one.

I liked someone for a while. If I were the true freshman I’d been back in college, I would have lacked courage to do anything, but once you get older you start to care less…because well, you’re getting older. Once you’re at that kind of age, you give no two cents what people think about you. You are getting older and that’s the thing. No time to waste. So we went out on a date, just one date. It was all right. I remember my friends teasing and cheering me on, urging me to send them a picture of him. Chatrooms with friends are always fun, even though we rarely chat anymore.

That phase quickly ended for me. I dropped out of art school when a friend helped me get a contract position at a gaming company in California. And that’s the thing with traditional parents who want to keep you close, keep a leash on you. Even though I have been living on my own since college, my parents are still strict. You should still follow house rules even when you’re out of the house. Systems are built like that.

My parents didn’t really agree when I wanted to go back to school to learn art, because I was already a teacher. They don’t understand.

Dreams change. Goals change. You change.

That’s life.

I was in my last week of finals when I snagged that job. I also had a convention to go to and I did not have any art printed. I was in a bind. And I was an RA which is a Resident Assistant. That purely means I’m a trained peer leader or student leader whichever you prefer who those living in a dorm can go to for help. So I resigned, sent my professor an e-mail that I would not be making my final as I was flying out for my interview in California and then my convention.

Obviously, I did get the job, but since I was leaving the dorm and not returning I needed a place to stay in the meantime. I couldn’t stay with my older brother who wanted to bill me $200 if I crashed with him for a week. I also haven’t talked to him since the move.

“You haven’t talked to anyone since you moved?” Chorong asks when we met for the first time in a year.

“I bet they miss you,” Namjoo adds.

“They said never to call them again, so I’m not going to,” I remind them.

“That’s sad,” Chorong comments.

So I am 1000 miles from my family, my friends, my hometown. When I first moved it was great. There was adventure. I was on my own. I could do what I wish, what I want, what I dreamt of. I make a lot at conventions. I travel from state to state, city to city, and to different countries. I’ve been to Japan and Korea. I want to go to Thailand next, but Thailand is not known for Anime conventions so I want to plan a trip with my girlfriends. We excitedly planned for it at a rooftop restaurant when I came back to visit them. That’s for next year though.

So far, I’ve met up with my sisters – they’re the only family I have spoken with since. Now I’m back in California. I miss home. I never thought about it, but now I think about it...

I am homesick.

“You should be a nomad,” my sister had suggested, “since you have nothing to tie you down or hold you back.”

That’s not a bad idea. I could come back and live close to home, but still not go home. After all, those with a stubborn streak don’t lose. I am a straightforward person. I still want to live my dream. All I do is stay inside, draw all day, but that makes me happy even though I do nothing else.

Yet I miss home.

After all, dreams change.