The book

chapter 1

Yup, I know, you're confused, I'm confused, we all are confused. Sure, some of you might think  that you know what you are doing and where you wanna be in life, but trust me, one day, one person, one seminar, and you'll end up questioning yourself and your decisions like a teen who freshly hit puberty and doesn't know if hair is supposed to be there.

   And maybe a few days later you'll figure something out and pray that you don't ever go somewhere or meet someone that makes you question it ever again. But let's be honest, you'll end up questioning it again.

  Maybe your parents will tell you what to do and you'll do it cause you don't know what to do. But you won't do it wholeheartedly or with the love that you should be doing it for, and slowly the question will start bugging you again, like a voice in your head that exists only to give you a feeling of anxiety and panic at the fact that you don't know what you want to do with your life.

 Or maybe you'll go down the road that most elderly people frown upon. You start to find meaning in collecting objects, clothes, eating expensive food and posting stuff on social media, cause if everybody thinks you're happy then maybe you'll become happy right? You try to socialize, get laid, hoping that someone you meet or something you do with other people gives you an answer or at least a sense of purpose for some time.

 Or worse you start hanging out with people who feel the way you do and together you try to avoid the question by drowning your capacity to think in a pool of drugs and alcohol. You start avoiding people who tell you that what you're doing is wrong because you think that you are the only one who is confused about life and that anyone who thinks they know what is good for you have never been confused about their own lives.

 Well, I could start by telling you where I was born and what my parents were like and how I never really had a lot of friends or that I never really was one of the popular kids, but I don't think you would be entertained by that stuff or that you would find any meaning in that, so I think it would be appropriate to tell you what happened one of the years that I was in college. 

 I was in the principal's office. It was a pleasant, and simple room. Simple white walls with a few windows. Two chairs on opposite sides of a warm brown table, that had been placed in the center of the room.The table with stacks of files, an apple mac, a charging cable plugged in  a nearby socket. The color of the carpet a slight darker shade of brown than the table. The seats were a shiny leather black. 

 The room always had the smell of lemons, which I assumed was due to the principal's habit of drinking lime soda that were made in the office by him.For me the smell had become something that made me feel nervous, probably because of the number of times I had been in this office to receive punishment or to see my report card which was always a disappointment.

  My principal was a pleasant person. He had a sense of humor, and found most of my jokes funny. When he wasn't on my ass for my grades or my behavior, our conversations were actually pretty interesting. He had a long beard and a bald head, which made me respect and like him even more than I already did, just because he managed to actually pull the look off. He wears one of those big round glasses like harry potter, that made him slightly less intimidating to me.

 When he had asked me to visit him after class, I figured out that this was either going to be about my grades, or he had found my search history and wanted to know why I was watching cat videos at 2 in the morning. I wasn't prepared for either of those.

 When I entered the room, I was instantly hit by an avalanche of cold air. It made me feel alert, which was a good thing considering how the night before, I had been up playing uno with my roommate and a few of our friends.

He gave me a sad look, like the kind of look you give to someone when you are  about to give them very bad news. The look used to give me goosebumps but I had grown used to it. I had gotten so used to it though. I am not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. This was also one of the things I liked about him, instead of being angry and frustrated with someone he would be disappointed, which in my opinion worked like a charm. 

 I think it's one of the most effective ways to make a child improve. Instead of shouting and being angry at the child, if the other person just acted like they were really disappointed, most children would do what they were told and the children would also try harder to not disappoint the other person. But sadly it only works if the child respects and likes that person .Which is why most adults go with the orthodox method of shouting and beating.

 He motioned me to sit down, which I did. The seat was so soft I swear I felt like I was going to be sucked into another dimension. While I was enjoying my seat he pulled out a file from the stack of files.He was also very straight forward. He rarely wasted time on small talk. It was something that I figured came from having a schedule as busy as his. 

I quickly started to brace myself for the news.