“And what was destiny? An unknown path taken after making a conscious choice? And if I had decided to paint, then why not one person, not two but the world became collectively responsible for my choice as they got to decide whether or not I could paint? I felt as though the world were just a giant accomplice to destiny. And the way towards my future was through an ajar door, open wide enough for me to peek and hope and yet not wide enough for me to see what lay beyond it. I could either be complacent and shut it or believe in myself and open it.
The door began to give me sleepless nights. It forced me to seek omens that better days were around the corner. Alternately, it made me overwrought and thin and reduced me to a sobbing heap on the bathroom floor. Ironically, it was this door that also made my heart skip and soar because the only way I could justify my existence was through my work.
A significant part of life would have remained behind an ajar door had I decided not to open it. The way I saw it, I didn’t have much to be afraid of. If it opened to success it could be applauded as a wise decision and if it opened to failure it could be dismissed as destiny.”