rekindling childlike wonder

finding creative outlets

I toiled away at school during my first semester. The notorious tales my friends would tell me about studying engineering were true: skipping classes, apathetic professors  – it almost seemed uncanny re-living each one of their stories. As if I knew my fate for each foretold event. 

It was this very phenomenon which made me question my cyclic routine, for which I begrudgingly opted into. But in the process I felt like I was losing a significant part of myself – a certain feeling – an intensity for building personal projects. And I felt like I didn’t have enough time to work on them. 

Approaching the end of the first half of my second semester, I faced a breakup. And I took it as a message from the universe to delve deeply into my shortcomings, and things which I dearly missed. The once familiar intensity which I missed was now tainted by a melting pot of motivations to play status games, to climb a ladder. And now it climaxed.

It emerged in my early highschool days – the early exposure to startup culture, ambitions to build a company, the notion of forging my own path. It seemed like a way to be “different” – to escape the conventional rat race. I spent countless hours thinking about how I could improve my creative portfolio to craft the perfect story – to make all my projects fit an ideal image. It consumed became my identity. And if anything, it was far from “creative.” 

But it was the constraint of university life which tested my passion for creation. I realized it wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy building, but rather my drive was directed towards unworthy pursuits.

For years I felt guided by fancy titles and I couldn't imagine surrendering my ego to take on building simpler, more fundamental projects – a fatal flaw which would pin me at the peak of “Mt. Stupid” of the Dunning-Kruger curve. And as I observed my tendency to abandon these endeavors, I began to question whether I had ever allowed my motivations to develop naturally. Then it dawned on me. Perhaps, buried underneath the pursuit of prestige, lay a genuine passion waiting to be rediscovered? 

I asked myself how I could cultivate this intrinsic passion. And I began to entertain the thought of making new friends at my school – dropping my impression of seeing school socials as “low-hanging fruit” to gain insight on what motivated them. So I started signing up for any tech-maker themed events I could find at Western, regardless of how frivolous and “gimmicky” they seemed. I had to give it at least one shot. 

At one of the first socials I attended, in the heart of the nearby downtown, I met X. He reminded me a lot of my close friends back home, and in the tech circle. That night, we chatted for hours on end about projects we wanted to work on, our experiences in SF, and the guiding principles which illuminated our paths. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the demands of prioritizing school over the past six months, where conversations about the future had become a rarity. Yet, talking with X rekindled a sense of hope within me, a gentle reminder of my former self and the passion that lay dormant within, waiting to be reignited. 

My conversation with X inspired me to catch up with friends of whom he reminded me of. I wanted to figure out what they were passionate about. H is building a startup but he still manages to have time to work on building his drone. J had just skipped a few classes to attend a hackathon. B works a part time job while balancing school but still puts time into exploring his interests in eastern philosophies. And X, who I had lunch with yesterday, showed me his latest creation – an LED ping pong matrix display, mounted on his bedroom wall. 

And I realized something from these conversations: The most curious people I know just build for the sake of it. They’re not motivated by prestige, or to “change the world.” Like pursuing an art. And above all, despite undertaking major commitments, they share the same relentless intensity to continue exploring new interests. Yet I was the one talking about how I’d get back to building once I had “enough” time. So I took a few steps back to reflect on my predicament. Because If I was truly earnest about building, I would have made the time…right?

Or maybe I just needed to get started. Maybe I just needed to muster up my willpower. So I hurled myself back onto my self-driving go-kart, a project initiated from last summer. But this surge of motivation was short-lived. I gave up two weeks later, coming face-to-face with my technical limitations and patience. I was often told that sometimes the hardest part of a task is starting it.

I guess that’s not always true.

I felt as if I reached a dead end. No matter how exhaustively I tried to explore, I couldn't put myself up to continuing my projects. Was it truly hopeless for me? Could I ever rekindle my childlike wonder ever again? 

As midterms arrived, I slipped back into my repetitive routine, zombie-ing away at rote memorization. But one day, while walking back to my residence building, the sound of a piano crossed my path. On most days, I never thought much about it, but I felt stuck in my monotonous regime – desperate to do something different in my day. I wanted to do something spontaneous. And for the very first time since I’ve entered university, I felt a pure form of curiosity take over my body. I knew what I had to do. Instead of taking the usual right turn to my dorm room, I veered left, entering the piano room. 

There, in that room I met R, the pianist whose melodies often resonated through the first floor. During our first conversation I learned that he, too, was also in engineering, which meant we shared the same seven courses for this semester. And I found it truly impressive how he  managed to balance his commitments, even finding time to routinely play the piano amidst our looming assignments. 

Over the coming weeks, I made it a habit to visit the room daily after lunch and dinner, hoping to find R there. It was his effortless approach to playing the piano which I admired. And oftentimes mid-song, he introduced me to the fundamentals of music theory, enabling me to improvise and truly understand the instrument rather than simply memorizing pieces. My interest in playing the piano, once diminished, was reignited by R’s guidance. It was as if I had found a newfound appreciation for piano playing, much unlike my early childhood when I took lessons. I felt like I unlocked a long-forgotten feeling – the feeling of being spellbound, immersed in a craft without caring about the results. 

Perhaps I should continue leaning into this feeling, and stress less about tethering my goals to a narrative – if at all. And treat it as a heuristic to guide me for what's next. 

I finish my first year of university in three weeks. To be honest, I’m not really sure what's next in store for me. I’m willing to play it by the month. At least for now. Because I don’t know when I’ll find a time like this again. Where I feel young and energetic, hungry for adventure and mystery. 

I firmly believe in embracing the natural rhythm of life – the non-linearity of it all. And that life will reward you when you do something unexpected, when you don't worry about the steps in between. 

Maybe this is how I’ll find my truest self.