Whenever I see singers and musicians on stage, I wish I had lived my life the way I wanted to live it. Probably I would be performing on stage myself. Probably I wouldn’t be as frustrated as I am now, sighing to the nth degree that I am singing songs to please and entertain students. Probably I wouldn’t cry over the very big gap of possibility that somehow, I would reach... sigh...

Whenever I go to the library or any bookstore, I wonder when I will see my name printed on the backbone of a book. I even wonder if that will really happen.

Then my thoughts move to my exasperating students and reality slaps me hard. I think I have already wasted a lot of time. I think I have stayed in the work place far too long. I think it is time for me to move out since I am not happy anymore. If there are instances that I am happy, I am surrounded by a number of faithful students.

Right now, I can only brood on my misfortune: preparing for another cycle of depression, seeing the same blank expressions in the classroom, getting my voice hoarse in a fruitless discussion.

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