7: Passion

"Hey, you really don't plan on being a writer?"

I asked her for the nth time.

". . .That again?"

I've asked her several times about this while writing the alternate story for the male lead.

"But it seems like a waste. You're quite talented."

She then sighed with exasperation.

". . .I told you it's just something I do for fun. A hobby. Also, just because you're good at something, doesn't mean you have to do it."

(That's true, but-)

"Then what do you want to do in the future?"

". . . . ."

"Hm? Still undecided?"

She merely closed her eyes, but that in itself was her answer.

"Hmm. . .how about this? You love stories, right?"

I immediately caught her attention. I grinned in response

"Shall I tell you one?"

". . ."

"A long time ago, there was a young girl, who failed an exam and was beaten by her parents."

". . . . ."

"It was then that she realized what they truly wanted from her."

Give and take

"While they pave my way to success, in exchange, I'll have to pave their way to success."

"That's why, after that, I stopped."

". . .Stopped?"

To my surprise, she asked a question. Of course, I was more than willing to give her an answer.

"I stopped trying. I gradually lost interest in studying and started doing random stuff. Of course, it's not like I purposefully failed the exams like before. I only needed to get an average score."

As I went down memory lane and let nostalgia take over, I can't deny the fact that it took a lot of weight off my shoulders. Ever since then, I didn't have to be a perfect student.

"So I only aimed that far. Also, it gave me time to explore my interests. I joined a lot of clubs you know."

When I said a lot, I wasn't kidding. Literature, Choir, Biology, Math, and Chess. Although I loved playing chess the most, I wouldn't say that I was passionate about it.

". . .Hmm. Even so, you. . ."

"Hm?"

". . .No, never mind."

She was about to say something, yet she hesitated. It truly made me curious, but I knew that pressing her on would have the opposite effect, so I let it be.

"Anyway, it went on like that until I reached 3rd grade of primary school. There was this classmate of mine who was very talented in drawing. He was really good."

It sure takes me back. I just transferred to that school, and there were a lot of interesting people. Still, I won't say I had a good time there.

I didn't have a good time, but-

"So I tried my hand at drawing. It was a first for me, but I did my best. After that, I showed him my artwork. Do you know what he said to me?"

". . ."

I couldn't help but laugh at the recollection. It was an unforgettable memory.

"He said it sucks."

Again, I couldn't help but laugh. It was truly a comical scene.

"Can you believe it? I was proud of my work at that time. But looking back at it now, it was really ugly. The face of the character was unrecognizable, and the anatomy was unrefined. All in all, I would also say it sucked."

". . .You seem happy, though. Usually, people will feel down after that."

At that time, I was more infuriated than dejected. It was the first time someone told me that I sucked at something so I took it as a challenge.

"Nah. . .that didn't make me feel bad. It was then that I started to practice drawing. I bought a sketchpad and drew stuff every day. It became a habit to draw doodles on the back of my notebooks. It was a mess."

". . .Hmm."

"Until one day, I won the drawing contest. I didn't even realize how much I've improved."

The satisfaction you feel when you achieve something due to hard work is amazing. But even that didn't last long.

"I won that award every year. Eventually, I grew bored and went back to playing chess."

I transferred back to my previous school and began to skip classes. I was just not interested in doing anything anymore.

"Then one day, I made a poster for our art project and a classmate of mine said-"

'Whenever I see your drawings, I feel like improving myself too. It's so pretty.'

It was a casual remark, probably something you hear once in a while but for me, that was-

"Those words made me feel something."

Joy? No. Grateful? That's not it either. It was something more. It was like I've found something. Something I want to strive for.

"I wondered if that was the beginning of my passion for art. I wasn't doing it for awards or praises."

". . . . ."

"I wanted to make the audience feel something. So, I pursued art."

I was once again hit by nostalgia. That was probably the first time I wanted to do something. To the point where I was willing to go against my parents' wish.

"I took a beating from my parents, but in the end, they gave in and allowed me to pursue art in college."

". . .And then?"

"Hm?"

". . .Were you able to do what you wanted to do?"

My smile froze. I hesitated. I-

"That's-. . .Hahaha. . . let's save that for next time. My throat is parched after talking for so long. I'll go get some drinks."

". . . . ."

I hurriedly went straight to the kitchen. I had to get away somehow.

"Haa. . .passion, huh."

It turns out, that having dreams and being passionate is not enough in the real world.