One Saturday, the day I took my college entrance exam, the same thing concerning my future slipped in my mind again. Through the hours, I stayed in my room, thinking how to go about confessing it to my parents.

At night, after I had gathered the amount of courage I needed, I went out of my room. I walked to my parents' room. Each step I took, I pacticed my lines and how to be calm about it. I found my mom and day, lying on the bed, asleep. The television was left on.

My mom was still in her office clothes as she had just returned from her work. I laid down beside her. She had easily awoken at the sudden movement of the bed, which was my intention. "How was the test?" she instantly asked as she saw me. "It was fine," I replied.

The exam was considered a bloodbath by many but I feel different. It was just like the tests I took in our school. The test was utterly easy but the worse thing is that many people are better than you.

"I don't want to take up Accounting," I told my mom, blurting more likely. "Then why did you write it in the application form?" This was her answer, just as I had predicted. I quickly gathered all my courage to tell her, "Because that was what you wanted. I want to study Advertising Arts,"

With my last sentence, she looked away from me and was silent for a while. That was the sign. Her answer was obvious but I still waited, staring at her with a little gush of hope.

"The courses that you would like to take up are merely for talent, hobbies," she began to speak. Her words had somehow sent my world, my hopes and dreams crumbling down to pieces. Even though I already knew the answer, it still hurt, especially when it came from my own mother. 

"Okay," I tried to sound as calm and as indifferent as I stood up.

"Where are you going?" she asked. 

"Back to my room," I answered. I avoided staring through her eyes as I slipped into my slippers and quickly went out of the room.

I went back to my own room and locked the door. I sat down in front of my study table. The next seconds were quite agonizing as I stared into nothing. Without a single warning, one tear after another fell down from my eyes.

I wiped those tears away. "I shouldn't cry about this. I've been here before. Stop," I told myself.

I tried to hold them back, afraid that my family would hear my sobs. 

Crying is easy like breathing. The more you hold it in, the more you let it out.

I remembered her words before, "You can choose any course you like as long as you would have a good future,"

She told me I can choose any course I like. But what happened then?

Isn't choosing happiness a good thing to consider when you talk about good future?

I used to believe I wasn't good at something until she started praising me for my drawings, my paintings

and so I had a little hope that I finally knew what i wanted to do and what I wanted to be.

But what happened then?

It was like I was back to square one, again unsure of my future.

It hurts to know that your mother is implicating on you these words...

"You can do what an artist does but you can never be an artist,"