Where Motivation Dwells

 “Ambitious!” a young, haughty female teacher jested. This was when I shared to her my dream. A dream of becoming a published author someday.

Though it seemed to be a joke for her, but deep inside, I did not feel it the same way. Especially when my narrow, immature mind was definitely hurt, deprecated with the adjective she had chosen to address my aspiration.

I tried to throw the word out of my mentality while walking in a rough, coarse road going to my flat. However, still, the powerful, disparaging impact of the word that teacher uttered dominated. It was continuously drilling in my mind, hurting it like a real puncturing on my brain without any anesthesia to sublime the pain.

I heavily sighed as I arrived at the door of my simple, little flat before unlocking its cold knob. Even though there were no tiring tasks I had done for the day I still had the feeling of being totally exhausted. All I wanted was to lay my worn-out body. I felt sleepy so I went up straight to my small, inviting bed of my room.

As I strode my first step on my on my room’s floor, a wind of freshness blew in me, extinguishing the weariness of my presence. My body felt a little chill of composure. My mind became clear. No agitation. No tension. No distress, only tranquility and peace. My mind had finally relaxed.

It was not new to me the kind of relaxing sensation given off by this bedroom. A place equipped with bed that possesses a sponge-like softness which cushioned my stiff body.

My bedroom was also installed with a sturdy bookshelf that housed piles of novel tome which I read to escape, for a little moment, from the absurdity of reality. Adjacent to it is the humble, sympathetic chair and table who bow for support in time when I have to exude the foul feeling within me. On top of the table was a silent, blank paper which served as trash bin for my wasted emotions. I hadn’t even missed to use its talkative partner which I used to scribble everything I want, my pencil.

Every time I was in this room together with my inanimate buddies, I had this preference to stay here all the time if it is just possible.

I pushed myself to sit on my chair which offers companionship. It helped me to loosen my stiff muscle for me to start rewinding what was happened the all day.  Obviously, what had ruled on my mind was the last word I heard.

Ambitious.

However, the effect was now different. It was not deprecating as the first time I heard it. Instead, the feeling of being motivated had pumped within me. It was like the ambiance of inspiration in my room had totally diffused, and I exhaled them all.

I tried to recall what I had said during my conversation with the teacher who thought I was ambitious.

“Someday, the world will read the most exciting novel ever written. And the author of that will be me!”

 I peeked on my writing desk and seen nothing on my paper. I realized that was an ambitious one to utter a dream without doing anything to achieve it. But looking at every corner of my room aroused my creativity. It felt like it was telling me, “Keep writing and you can do it!”

That inspirational thought in my mind was intensified when I momentarily looked on my favorite author’s piece in my bookshelf.

Together with the reverberation of motivation, I yelled to my mind, Time to write the most exciting novel! It is time to make fantasy a reality!