your words don't translate.

"where are you going to school?"
"boston conservatory."
"isn't that like... a music school?"
"yeah."
"oh. are your parents like super rich or something?"
"no. they're actually pretty poor."
"well then that's not a very dependable future for you."
"i don't care."
"what's your plan B?"
"i don't have a plan B."
"that's not smart. you should minor in something like economics."
"no."
"why?"
"because i don't want to."
"well i mean you're not going to make any money."
"you know what? i don't care. i care more about my happiness than money. i would rather be dirt poor living a life i love than have a ton of money and hate my job."

i finally turned away and put my head on my desk.

"i hope she's not crying. i didn't mean to make her upset."

well. TOO BAD. you did. and all i have to say is:

fuck you. fuck you very, very much.

i don't need you to tell me how to live my life. i'm going to give everything i have to my dreams so that i never have to look back and think, "what if?" i really genuinely hope someday i can look back and be able to say you were wrong.