I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen to me in the future. I'm not talking about college, or work or family. I am talking about myself.
Will I still be the same wide-eyed (or not-so-wide-eyed) girl who finds the smallest peculiar details the most fascinating things in the world?
I have been so preoccupied with school and responsibilities that I haven't been even trying to spend time with myself, to indulge with the things I love doing. I have turned into the person I hate, the person who puts Algebra and Physics first, rather than the more wondrous and bewildering things I find in my fiction books. I know in the back of my head that numbers and units are far more important than turning my back on the world and locking myself in my room and reading a nice work of fiction. But I know in my heart that these are the only things that will make me truly happy.  
I don't want to turn into a corporate zombie in the future, doing paperwork, finishing files and documents, but I know that these will help me get through the wear-and-tear of life. I want real paperwork, I want to get ink stains on my fingers and clothes from all the writing, I want to get paper cuts from all the reading and revising. I want manuscripts stacked on my table, and an understanding boyfriend who will deal with my sudden nervous breakdowns.
But I know these will never happen. I know I'd end up choosing the easy yet the wrong path, because this is how the world is now. Artists are unappreciated, while accountants and engineers are worshiped.
I guess, I do have an idea on what is going to happen to me (and the world) in the future.
And it's downright depressing, I tell you.