I’m An Artist, I Wanted To Be An Accountant

From a young age, I was captivated by the order and logic of numbers. Math felt like a reliable friend in an unpredictable world, promising a future of stability and success. However, as much as I adored the subject, external forces and familial expectations began to shape a path I never truly chose.

The Blueprint

My family had a well-rehearsed plan for my future. My mom envisioned me following a revered tradition — one in every generation would become a doctor, and she was convinced I was destined to join that lineage.

Meanwhile, my dad was adamant that I would become an accountant or pursue a business-related career. His conviction was rooted in my childhood habits: I loved running small hustles, selling papers, crafting my magazines for the neighbors, and even vending food and books.

According to the bank teller setting up my kiddy account, I had amassed three times the savings of an average 8-year-old.

Yay me, such an entrepreneur!

30 Modules = Overwhelming Pressure

Even though I was fascinated by numbers, elementary school was...hard. I struggled with multiplication, which hampered my early mathematical excursions. This challenge, however, would soon become a spark for a chain of events that would transform my entire academic career.

To alleviate my problems, I was sent to a tutoring school, a decision that was intended to spark improvement but instead overwhelmed me. This was the start of a never-ending slew of assignments that suffocated my enthusiasm and instilled a lifelong sense of inadequacy.

So, enter Kumon…

Kumon’s system was methodical and unforgiving. And while I commend them for their affordability and merits to other children, that 😐 face destroyed me every time I walked home from school.

Their homework was divided into modules, each consisting of 10 to 15 pages, with one side of the page presenting 10 challenging questions.

At one point, I was burdened with 30 modules over a holiday break — a workload that felt designed to break rather than build.

Lost Variables

The stacks and stacks of worksheets became a relentless force in my life. Each module piled on another layer of pressure, leaving little room for creativity or self-discovery. Instead of nurturing my love for math, the system transformed it into a source of constant anxiety and fatigue.

The unyielding pressure of Kumon reached a breaking point. I found myself isolated and abandoned in the very place meant to help me, a moment that would haunt my academic future for years to come.

I was left alone in the sterile, impersonal tutoring center. Alone. Until the sun was dark. But this abandonment was not just physical — it felt like a betrayal by a system that claimed to care about my progress. Overwhelmed and disillusioned, I eventually gave up, allowing despair to seep into every aspect of my studies.

Solve for X = Trauma

The psychological toll was immense. Although the mechanics of multiplication remained ingrained in my mind — a testament to the repetitive nature of Kumon — the trauma from that period was profound.

In the following years, my grades plummeted, a clear sign of how deeply the experience had affected my ability to learn and thrive in a conventional academic setting.

In the wake of academic failure, a peculiar habit emerged — a way to cope with the overwhelming pressure and disillusionment. What started as moments of spacing out gradually became a gateway for my creativity.

When traditional learning left me feeling trapped, I found solace in drifting away from the relentless demands of the classroom. Spacing out became a refuge, a brief escape from a world that no longer made sense.

New Variable

In those stolen moments of mental freedom, my imagination began to flourish. I started drawing and doodling in the margins of my notebooks, letting my thoughts spill out in vibrant sketches. What was a distraction soon became the foundation of a creative awakening that reshaped my identity.

By 15, the seeds of a new dream had taken root.

The oppressive expectations of academia had inadvertently paved the way for an entirely different ambition — one fueled by passion, creativity, and a desire for self-expression.

No longer confined by the rigid structures of math and traditional expectations, I began to see the world in vivid hues. My daydreams evolved into a tangible desire to create, and I envisioned a future where art was my voice, not numbers or spreadsheets.

The Long Way

With newfound clarity, I pursued a degree in visual design. University was a breath of fresh air — where creativity was celebrated rather than suppressed. Surrounded by like-minded peers and mentors, I embraced every opportunity to refine my artistic skills and challenge the norms that had once dictated my future.

Emerging from the shadow of an imposed career path, I ultimately found my true calling. Life as a freelance designer allowed me to reclaim the creative spirit stifled for so long, yet I couldn’t help but wonder about the roads not taken.

Graduating and stepping into the world as a freelance designer was both liberating and daunting. Every project and every creative endeavor was a testament to the resilience that had carried me through years of academic torment.

I built a life defined by art — a stark contrast to the structured, number-driven career that was once forced upon me.

Reflections on a Lost Path

Even as I embraced my identity as an artist, a part of me often reflects on the path I was steered away from. Could I have been a brilliant accountant, or perhaps followed my mom’s dream of becoming a doctor?

The question lingers, a bittersweet reminder of a past marred by expectations and systemic bullying.

Yet, in every brushstroke and every design, I honour the journey that transformed pain into creative freedom.