Uncertainty

I remember them asking, when I couldn't even walk straight
"What are you gonna be when you grow up?"
As little as I did know about the world and the people in it,
made me say what my dad did, or my sister, or the things my teachers talked about
or the what cartoons led me to believe
Even then, in my memories
I remember uncertainty
They asked again a few years down the line
my hair had grown, my gait more fragile
"What are your plans for the future?"
some days I'd shrug
some days I'd say what all my friends were saying, just to get the conversation done with
other days I'd sit uncomfortably and avoid eye contact until the subject of the question
was indeed someone else
a sigh of relief
I woke up wanting to be someone new each day, my future an array of
distinct personas
A life made of many lives felt like the most exciting kind
yet those thoughts were frowned upon
apparently I was supposed to pick only one
discouraged, my shoulder slumped a little, although the hope was still strong in my back.
An unprepared uncertainty
They asked again before I graduated from high school.
"What next? Have you made up your mind yet?"
I don't know when it happened but somewhere in 17 years I'd adopted a dream.
Some dream
words I'd say to hide my thoughts had now become my concrete future
I got closer and closer,
pages and sheets scribbled upon desperately
ambition for numbers accounting for the transformation of dreams to reality
the haziness between the two started getting farther, a thick line separating the them.
A Trance-like uncertainty
A few years had passed
They asked again,
"What are you gonna be?"
I no longer know which is better
to wait in the limbo of waking up disorientated, laziness and exhaustion clouding
the concept of time, laying on the bed staring at a ceiling fan
like all of life's lessons could be learnt right here in this limbo
Or do I take charge? get on an endless cycling track of destinations,
pressure on the peddles leaving tracks of creativity
what cost am I paying for these road marks?
An anxious uncertainty
They ask again, every week
in classrooms,
in protest walks
on phone screens and in loud screams on the television sets
"What kind of a person will you be?"
am I a person if all my thoughts are a reproduction of the same bullshit someone else already did
am I a person if I never liked any other colors than the grays?
am I a person if I don't confine?
A nervous uncertainty
I see it in their eyes
we're not there in time yet, but the questions are here now.
they will ask soon
"What will you do for those who did for you ?"
But is there a quantifiable measure for what I got and what I can give?
for all the nights my father worked
for all the time my mother saved
for all these morals and values that I carry, a heirloom passed down inherently
some days desperately trying to embody them and some days trying to tear them off my flesh and bones
Before I can figure out who I am
I am thrown off course with the burdens of them asking
"What will you do for the world? how will you contribute to society?"
There are nights I wonder, if living with a void for a mind would have been better
How do you pick a war to fight, a side to advocate and a point of view to support
when you find empathy and confusion towards every headline
with enough words read and heard, every cause is worth fighting for
when I couldn't pick a future
when I don't understand my past
when I exist in oblivion in the present
how do I answer any thing at all?
I ask myself
"Will you ever get there or just float like a cloud for the rest of eternity?"
"Get where?" I ask.
silence.
An uncertain uncertainty .