I sit, looking at the screen of my Planar monitor that has been provided for me at my new internship. It’s not an internship that I necessarily hoped and dreamed for (that one sent me an email saying that I should reapply next year), but it fulfills its purpose. I have my own cubicle: I never thought I’d say that. Sitting within my three and a half walls I can hear the clicking of three other keyboards in rhythm with my own; soft laughter resounding from surrounding sections of the building; and a constant murmur that an unknown appliance speaks. No music is heard and, there is no excitement today.

The first week of my 8-5 days seemed endless. I would go home, ears still ringing from the hours of painful silence, and wish that June 30th would just get here so I could go back to the comfort of my regular job. My regular job is one that involves a good amount of effort, but it carries a sense of home with it: staff that I have gone out to lunch and dinner with, shared the shells of my inner most thoughts with, and grown—to a point—with.

Now, in the second week of my four-week adventure, I am growing used to the continuous silence and my growing disinterest in permanently working for the company I am interning with. I don’t say this with disregard to the great work they do; however, this environment signifies the reinstatement of my old goals.

These goals are not set in stone, but they are continuously changing. Prior to this internship, I reconsidered the naivety of my hopes for the future. I was unintentionally insulted by a friend who questioned the purpose of my dreams. He did not know he was insulting me—For example: let’s say my dream is to own a hot dog stand.
*Billy: What is the point in having a hot dog stand anyway? How does a hot dog stand owner support their families if they spend all their time standing in downtown with hot dogs? There is not much profit in that…”
Me: I want to do it because… (Insert a weak attempt at trying to defend myself here).

After leaving and trying to keep my eyes from watering any more than they already were, I drove straight home and just cried. I cried because I knew that Billy was right. What is the point in a hot dog stand? Mind you this is not my “dream” but spending hours everyday standing in downtown hoping that someone will be hungry enough to stop and buy cheap food may not be the best idea. Where is the profit in this? Where is the purpose? Where is the future?

Those are all valid questions, but those are all questions that are negatively thought upon. A good friend, who happened to be standing there when the whole thing happened said, “Do what you love, just know how to defend it.” It was probably phrased differently, but that is the mindset that I have taken. I was, at first, offended because I thought he was saying that I don’t know how to defend what I want to do in the future.

But, now I hope that is what he is saying. It is a challenge to me and to my dreams. I, at 10:33am on Tuesday morning, do not know exactly what I am going to do in the future. I do not know what type of hot dogs I will sell, where I will sell them or if I will make any money doing this. I don’t know if it will be a big flop, if it will succeed, if I will get an award for having the best hot dogs in the area, but—

It is still a part of me. A part of me that hasn’t taken physical form yet, it hasn’t taken route yet—I don’t have a way to defend it right now: but I still love it.

So, at 10:36am when I should really be researching something about marketing or brochures or anything work-related—I am rediscovering what it means to have dreams. I am rediscovering how hope is real, and it is something to assist us when we do not have the means yet to get to the future.

WE ARE ORIGINAL REBEL

Desi Colón

onthehope.wordpress.com