Casa Robino

"Öğrenci misin? Yok mı? Çalışır mısın? Ne iş yapıyorsun?"

I think there must be a way out of this system. We've already figured out that if work isn't meant to be satisfying or fulfilling, it shouldn't occupy most of our waking lives. So instead, we work sporadic disposable jobs for two-week periods, saying "This was just a means of getting by for the meantime..." Then, what are we really working toward?

We are skilled, in a way that far surpasses the ability to cap and box spray-paint cans. We are productive, so why should we have to suffocate inside office buildings? We are far more interesting than the parents of the children we've babysat for. Why do we let things that we are not passionate about cause us physical and psychological pain? I met a man in his late thirties working as a night-clerk in a 24-hour petrol station in the Spanish plains, who had studied Eastern medicine. I met a writer who works as a trucker, hauling around radioactive materials. I've met many artists who don't work at all, anymore.

I've realized something lately: at some point or another, we've all been talked out of our dreams. The grown-ups I grew up around discouraged me from doing beautiful things, so up until now, I never seemed to consider really "applying". I'm not where I want to be. I'm only halfway uphill.