Sometimes I think I am wasting life.
For I am too content sitting on the couch
and watching shows that make me happy.

My father regales me with tales of his childhood,
how he had to place his feet in a bucket of ice water,
just to stay awake.

My mother does not tell tales of her childhood,
but predictions after mine.
And with a voice as firm and a bond of twins,
she says ‘you will remember’.

And it scares me.
For I do not hear ‘remember’,
but regret.
And suddenly,
my past-times become my prison.

My head starts filling with questions,
every little thing psychoanalysed,
because I do want any regrets.

The show with the hero who always saves the day.
The police woman who always does what is right.
The music that always pulls me off the edge.

Gone.
Gone.
Gone.

I shall be a doctor, not a dreamer.
An accountant, not an actor.
A diplomat, not a dancer.

Part of the left wing majority.

Not a life wasting art major.