Peter parker

And as I was walking in the workplace, I felt it again...

I felt the pull this place has, I felt its grip in my mind and in my heart. I was getting pulled into the darkness here and I had to make a decision. I couldn't just "wait this one out"—I already spent 2 years here...

This job saved me 2 years ago, gave me hope, gave me the required power to work on myself, to treasure every hour I have. I had to learn it through hardship and through the struggle of a never-ending cycle of work/home/university and repeat.

I kept calling myself "an artist." I thought that as time passed, I’d make more art and make a living out of it. I was wrong.

Truth is, I never treasured my free time before—I thought it would never end. I kept delaying making art and crafting something for the "right time," but it never came, and that poisoned my soul and my heart. I didn’t have the courage to set that dream as a priority anymore. I was 20 and I had to work.

So I'm here now, two years later, on the brink of making the biggest decision of my life:

Do I quit the job? The safe place, with a decent salary—for that dream?

Do I take a leap of faith toward the vision that only me, myself, and I can see?

Do I try to not have regret for the future?

I thought when this day comes, the answer would be very quick and simple, but no...

It’s been two weeks and I haven’t decided yet, but the thought of that dream has clouded my comfort in this place. I can’t bear it anymore. I count seconds, hours, days, and hope for the fire in me to reignite once again...

But doubt is suffocating me...

There are voices in my head that tell me, “You have 2 hours of free time every day, why don’t you use that? Because you’re lying. To yourself, to your family, to your dreams. You don’t want more time to work on your craft—you want to escape.”

And they’re right. Maybe if I really wanted it, I would've used every second of free time I had every day. But crafting is hard. Making art is hard. Writing, designing, and... it takes all of your soul. And when the soul bottle is empty, there is nothing to regain from.

Six customers came in while I was in the middle of writing this. As a shopkeeper, I owe it to them and to myself to give my 100% every time someone walks into that door—to give them my full attention, to help them as much as I can, and make them leave with a smile on their face. And I’m blessed to hear their commendations to my boss and myself. And I know I’ll be missed when I’m gone from here. And I know I gave it my all when I was working.

But when they leave, my smile fades. That ache in my heart grows bigger and darker, and I have no choice but to fight it or try to run away...

I’ve always loved Spider-Man. I wanted to be him. But I never thought I’d be Peter Parker.