Any story about anyone chasing their dreams will touch me to the core, because I, like almost every single human being, too have a dream.
 
My dream, and I mean this truly and sincerely, has been with me since as long as I can remember. I'll be open about it; my dream is to write and publish my own book. Since I was so young, I've always yearned to write stories and publish them, I've always wanted to become a formal and official writer.

But my dream, until now, has yet to be met. Sometimes I think it's likely because I have yet to put in much effort, but other times, most of the time, I am actually consumed by the thought that it's really too difficult for me.

And during that "most of the time" moments, my flaws become apparent, and my strengths are terribly blurred. During those moments, I really, really don't see myself as good enough a writer.

I know. Much like how every story about dreams will wish to convey, achieving dreams will never be easy. There are too many hurdles to count and there will always be others who will want to pull you down. There are the skeptics and the realists, the offenders and the envious. At least, those are the obstacles easy to spot.

But there are the subtle ones too, and sometimes they're the ones that hurt you more than you'd admit to think. They are the close ones that don't believe in you as much as you want to. The loved ones that don't support you because deep down, they, probably like you, don't think you can make it. It's painful to admit, but these obstacles exist.

And personally, I feel those obstacles so, so much. It's already excruciatingly difficult to not feel dejected when I know so many others are miles better than me. It's even more burdensome a weight on my heart knowing how very, very, very few people believe in my writing. 

Plus, being a Literature student in university who can hardly score A's in her essays does not help. I struggle to write fluently and crtically, while all around me are many amazing writers, who write with absolutely clarity and amazing conciseness. I try to bury the pain, but my heart still pangs with hurtful envy at their natural flair with words.

I know, comparison and reliance on others can only get you so far (it doesn't get you that far at all), but I still can't help it. It's truly difficult to. This is my hurdle.

The tears fall as I can't help but to realise how my precious dream of becoming a writer is moving further and further away from me. I'm reaching out, but my arm's growing weak, and I hate to deny it, but it's my whole being that's moving backwards, too.

I wish I can be like the star of the stories I read and watch in books and films. The star that gets through their obstacles, the star that beats all the odds, the star that rises after being put down, the star that eventually experiences the indescribable sweetness of achieving their dream.

I really, really, really want to be that star.

And, I guess, even with all that's been said, I won't stop at nothing until I become that star.

Even with all that's been said, there's still that flicker of optimism in me. No matter what, I'll keep on writing. Even if it sucks, even if no one celebrates it, even if I get so old, even if I'm seen as a fool, even if I myself see no future in them. Anywhere, any time. I will always keep on writing.

Until I can call myself that star I've always yearned to be, that star I've shed so much tears to become, I will always keep on writing.