Turning my face to a nearby window, I began to watch the dance performed by the raindrops. I took a momentary distraction from this image by picking back up my 4B charcoal pencil and skilfully tracing over a faint pattern. I put my pencil aside and spotted the weather outside. I was sorry for the people outdoor who were not allowed inside, regarding , once, I was stuck external, too. I had only very recently found comfort in this classroom ; in this comforting place I call my refuge. Thanks to my obstinacy and determination, I had deserved my place in an art class, after all.
I had achieved my asylum by many fights; I had lost many battles, but I won the war. I no longer regret my decision on moving school, as I did for a too long time. Leaving my old school for this place has once been like flying without wings; like drowning with no air. But somehow, I gained wings before I crashed and I managed not to suffocate! When today I look back through my life, it is almost impossible for me to remember anything that happened before I was reborn. That may be because before I fell in love with art, nothing mattered: life used to be dark and dim – a never ending twilight- and this darkness terrified me.
Nothing in my life had meaning and I lived my life purposelessly: day-by-day. But just then, when I slowly began to fear that there would never be any light meant for me , this flaming meteor flew across my sky, setting everything on fire. Suddenly, along with the light, came the meaning and purpose, followed by the passion of a lifetime. This meteor was art. It had been a priority in my life for many years now and was not replaced by anything. I was perfectly happy with my life as it was, but during the last months of me being a second year, many things had changed.
I moved house to a distant town called Hamilton. To be able to attend my old school from there, would cause me a big deal of trouble everyday, but I refused to move school for the 8th or 9th time in my life, and so I stayed. Unfortunately, I was left to face an unavoidable obstacle: choice of school subjects. I would choose art over anything, of course, but this time I had to choose my future career carefully, as my whole life depended on my choice. When it came down to a comfortable living, I was told that career of an artist was no longer my best option.
I was left to face an important choice: a choice between passion and money; an artist and a lawyer. I was at a crossroads – “what should I do? ” I questioned myself. In my mind, I remembered two quotes: “Nothing destroys spirit like poverty” and “Pleasant with useful is a key to success”. I truly wanted to believe the second reference to be right, and so I took a chance on my dreams. After all, there was nothing in the whole world that could extinguish the undestroyable flame of passion that was now deeply rooted within me.
The ‘blue sky weather’ that followed soon after my decision, seemed to reflect my happiness perfectly: the shining sun braking through the -usually rainy- cloudless sky; for once ‘gentle’ breeze blowing through my hair – all this was making me forget my area was Scotland. Unfortunately, as my location was untrustworthy and undeniable, it did not let me forget for too long where I was. ‘the blue sky weather’ evaporated as suddenly as it appeared, taking back all of the joy I felt before. A stormy cloud of rain was awaiting me over the horizon…
As the calendar began the final countdown towards the end of the term, I began to question myself and my sanity . How much longer could I keep up my uncomfortable lifestyle. Travelling all this way to get to school, provided e with less time to practice my hobby. I had no guarantee that the consequences would satisfy me, after all, moving schools one month before the summer holidays and already after selecting school subjects was not safe. “What if all the art-classes were already filled up? ” – I dared to suspect. But, what wouldn’t I trade for a chance to study art more comfortably?
And so I did, I exchanged the known for the strange; the comfortable for dangerous; the hopeful for hopeless… I hardly managed to choke back down the horrifying shriek of agony that was about to escape my lips as a response to what I heard a moment earlier. Only one over-extended word echoed my misery through my head: “No”. I didn’t realise that the tears I fought a battle against a moment ago were already dripping down my face. I was stunned beyond description, as if somebody set an iron chokehold on my neck, making me suffocate. A soothing, shaking hand f my mum shook me out of a nightmare that turned out to be reality. I glanced at her but she was already confronting one of the principle teachers:
“Are you sure nothing can be done? Art is her whole world! ” I didn’t want to hear the rhetorical reply, but my remaining leftovers of hope forbade me to cover my ears, incase the smallest hint of promise was there. “I am terribly sorry, but we cannot break the rules set by the S. Q. A. I am afraid your daughter will have to stay with P. E, despite her apparent detest for it. She could always try for a place in the art department in two years, if she is still so eager. This last statement destroyed my world, nothing matter anymore if my life ambition was marked impossible. But I would not give up that easily! I spent the summer holidays planning my strategy. My plan was to do everything in my power t ‘deserve’ a place in the art department, making the horrible place , a bit less vile, than it already was. The loathe I felt for the very sight of my new school made me turn my head in the opposite direction. I did as I planned. Since the start of the new term, the art teachers had not a half-day break from me: they were encouraged to examine my artistic ability, or simply forced.
I came at lunch everyday to find out what the ‘others’ were up to in class, and to keep up with them in my own time. I even got my mum to speak to the headmaster of the school about an impossible rearrangement of my subjects. I tried, and tried and was rejected every time. I was afraid that if my meteor disappeared ever the horizon , the terrifying darkness would return. I could not find words to describe my disappointment on how things turned out for me – especially that the majority of the pupils in art were as keen as I am about P. E.
I never stopped regretting my decision of moving school, because I knew that of only I stayed where I was, I would get to do what I wanted. Another day came, and again I questioned myself how to face it without breaking down completely, as I always did. If only was I not damned to walk beside the doors that lead to the department of art and design everyday and to see the smiles of the people getting out of this class, my suffering would not have been so great. I was surprised to see my friend Nicole -running after me in between classes as if to tell me something important-.
Nicole was one of the rare and lucky ones who ended up with art on their timetable. When she finally caught up with me on the language floor, she announced something astonishing! I paced through the office corridor nervously once again. Looking up at the clock for God knows what time. “This committee meeting should be over by now” – I rushed in my mind. Subconsciously, I began to wonder about the girl that dropped out from one of the art classes last week, if she knew what she was losing… I predicted she would never fully understand how lucky she was to ‘deserve’ something I’d give life for, because she just gave it away so easily it hurt! as if it had no meaning to her. I could not erase the overwhelming feeling of hope that blinded my world since I found out there was even a faint chance of me being selected in place for that girl. Even though there were twenty nine people waiting in front of me; even though it was a mad impossibility for me to skip them all, I still hoped because I knew I was the one to truly ‘deserve’ this one last chance I would not waste. I straightened up at the sound of the door opening.
A single-file of unfamiliar faces stepped out of the room, one following one another, parting in different directions as the room emptied. Two accustomed persons stood to face me… Once again, I traced over a flower pattern with my 4B charcoal pencil, skilfully manipulating my tool in the process. I noticed that the pattern was no longer faint. I put my tool aside, looking up at the nearby window. To my surprise, a few raindrops that were sprinkled all over the glass of the window, were the only evidence to prove the factuality of previous weathers’ misbehaviour.
All the other traced of ‘Scottish weather’ disappeared along with the leftovers of the rain-clouds that now evaporated beyond the horizon. I found it hard to believe that the weather can change so instantly from good to bad. Today, I also know that in real life, just like in a weather forecast, everything can change within a moment. One day you have everything, the next you can lose all you’ve got in life. Life, just like weather, can be cruel: the sky doesn’t care if an umbrella free person gets soaked, just as not always the person that deserves what he wants, gets what he deserves.
I learned that by my own experience. But what I also found out was that sometimes you’ve got to take a chance, risk it all, to than be able to win it all back! Even though the idea of taking chances doesn’t always turn out right and as planned at first, determination always pays off later, making the impossible, real! Just like me, a weak ago, I though it was impossibility to be where I am now, but it turned out differently as my obstinacy and determination proved me to be worthy of this place in art, changed my life by 180°, as my life became colourful again and its meaning returned.
It also made me view life differently: I began to see what I have more clearly, after it had all been taken away before. After losing what was so important to me, I gained a new insight on the world, and began to treat it as a fragile, not lasting lottery, because after all, you can only estimate the weather, but you can not predict the future. All these outcomes affected my life, and I will never hesitate to take a change again.