Stress has the tendency of making me nostalgic. At times, it is a coping mechanism that aids procrastination, allowing hours to fly by as I meander through the convoluted domain that remembers the things that I didn't even know I remembered. At other times, it is a source for inspiration, allowing me to search for ideas or hope. Either way, it gets me contemplating about "from where's" and "where to's" and "why now's."

What stood out in my recent delve is how much I have changed. In school, I used to be one of those kids that always fought for what they wanted; that included maintaining a position among the best of the class, grade, or group. I label this high expectation of myself "the youngest child syndrome." With my siblings both over five years older than me, it was a mission to keep up. Nevertheless, as a scholar, I refused to stop trying.

Proof 1:

In grade two, my teacher placed me in the B group for writing (lessons on Nelson Script). I had never been in the B group before and I did not want my first time to be the consequence of an imperfect consonant. My reaction was to cry (a common form of protest for seven-year-olds); I made such a scene that my teacher placed me back into the A group and never chanced any further displacements.

Proof 2:

For a particular Afrikaans test in grade five, my class was given an extra mark for neat work. Expectedly, I was not given an extra mark (not caused by my earlier bribery in grade two). My work was neat, except for a question that was written in fine print to fit my rather verbose answer into the given space. I complained incessantly (without the tears) until I had received the extra mark.

I realized that, as a young child, I did everything I had to to get what I wanted. There were no inhibitions, no hesitations, and no limiting regulations. All that existed was passion and drive; two qualities that I now find myself devoid of.  

It's a hard life for the "artist." Life begins with the lack of acceptance — the being-an-artist-does-not-equate-to-having-a-career argument. In high school I had confessed my dreams of becoming a film director to my guidance teacher, and she replied by saying, "You can have your dreams, but they have to be sensible." What followed was a chain of rejection around the reality of my dream. I fought through for the sake of fighting but, as time passed, the dream faded and lived only as a reaction to the disbelief in its manifestation.

The second obstacle is financing. Equipment, material, labor, and education are expensive, more expensive than the potential income to be received in the initial years of being an artist. Moreover, obtaining experience or part-time employment in the field of choice is never easy (especially in South Africa).

The third bubble-buster is originality. Globalization reveals the multitude of people with the same dreams and goals, which makes it hard to stand out and "be someone." We are all talented individuals, we are all unique, we are all a bunch of wannabes chasing the same shadow. Ideas are re-churned every second, and ideas that you believed to be great usually already exist.

The more you know, the more equipped you are with reasons to give up. With an inbox full of rejection emails, a cash balance that's sitting in the negative numbers, and a notepad bearing no great ideas, it's hard to prevent the death of your confidence in your talents. Your dreams become irrelevant in the real world and soon you are behind that desk that you have always dreaded, working a 9 to 5 in an airless cubicle and stifled by the mundane minds of your fellow co-workers: all for the paycheck.

I find myself here, on the brink of selling my soul for financial security. I have grown from a child who believed that dreams should never be compromised to the skeptic who fails to believe in dreams.

This is why I mention my friend, Rowen, who is trying to break into the world of hip hop. He writes, "You may know me from my history as an MC and a comedian, but I guarantee you there is nothing funny about who I am and what I stand for. I may not have the best style of writing, but I write with passion. I may not have the best voice, but I rap with my heart, soul and my mind. I may not be the biggest guy, but I fight hard. I express myself fully and make no apologies for what I say. I am also a firm believer in evolution, pantheism and naturalism. Due to my beliefs I live the life of a hunter-gatherer in a postmodern society. This is who I am."

His work exhibits the qualities that I have lost, and for that I have a profound amount of respect for him. In fear that his passion will also be trampled by the system, I urge you to check out his stuff and offer suggestions on how he may improve or who he may be able to contact.

Maybe one day I will be as brave as he is and venture out into the vast darkness of the real world to strive for my goals, without turning back.

Tharuna Devchand