To be an architect, is to be a dreamer living in realism.
To be an architect, is to stay alive within the dream.
- Sahla Rafi
I remember my heart beating, struggling between choosing a war of five years and settling into a life that was to be decided for me.
That afternoon is now one of my absolute favorite, in my life. I wish, I wonder if I knew at the time... How those few hours were going to change my life.
A few days before this afternoon, I'd registered at BITS, to begin my life as an IT engineer. I'd got the whole set of first year books, dragged into my room with its weight and I left it in a corner, untouched. Didn't bother to even wonder at the subjects.
On a drive to the college to pay the first semester fees, my mom said something that had dad driving straight instead of going right from the signal, something that changed my life for the rest of it.
Manipal. Architecture.
I'd entered the college, as my then unknown seniors were leaving for Spain, and Ashok sir poked in while we were talking to a professor at the time about the course. My eyes lit up with fantasy and desire was unconscious. The professor led me to their activity room, to give us a glimpse of the work and I wandered about, asking her how each one was done.
They seemed impossible to reach, impossible to conquer but oh, if only I could. I told her I'm weak with colors, and she laughed, saying they'd teach me. That they didn't expect me to know everything, that there was no right or wrong in the world of architecture. There was just, perspective.
I left with my heart full and eyes glistening with wonder. And my parents, they didn't fail to notice. Back home that afternoon, was the most life changing phone call I ever made.
An entire hour of panic ridden conversation with my sister, how on earth could I even dream of being an architect?! But she, for some reason already knew. How, I'll never know. But she knew and she pushed me to it. She stayed.
That afternoon, I sat down with my hands on deck and ended with a series of drawings, all over my desk two hours later. I had every perspective sketched out, multiple times and then some. I had shadows that played with shapes and quizzes I'd failed and papers scattered over the floor. Little did I know this was only the beginning of years of trashed rooms filled with foam boards and sketches, paints and cardboard and glue and knives. The euphoria!
I didn't remember the time go by, I didn't realize I loved it. My parents woke up to see me working away at a station, filled with architectural work and a bag full of IT Engineers books stacked at the corner, untouched and unnoticed.
There was one last entrance admission exam, three days from then. My last chance, my absolute miracle.
I chose to fight a war of five years, fighting tooth and nail to survive each day.
It's almost eight years to this day, to that afternoon of a passed out 12th grader with a dream in her eyes and hope in her heart.
I look back at her and I smile so whole.
She's going to love every goddamned day of those five years, and she'll take on five more. She has no idea what's coming.
But me?
You can call me an Architect now.
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