When I was around eight or nine years old, I was absolutely convinced that I was destined to become a marine biologist. Growing up, I was completely fascinated by ocean documentaries, especially the ones showing deep-sea expeditions and vibrant coral reefs. I used to spend hours reading illustrated encyclopaedias about sharks and whales, and I imagined myself spending my adult life diving in tropical waters or living on a research vessel in the middle of nowhere.
At that age, my motivation was purely based on romanticised notions rather than any practical understanding. I pictured swimming with dolphins and uncovering mysterious underwater creatures, completely ignoring the scientific rigour behind it all. However, as I entered secondary school and started studying formal sciences, particularly chemistry and advanced physics, reality began to set in. I realised that marine biology was not just about outdoor adventure; it required meticulous laboratory work, complex data analysis, and a strong aptitude for organic chemistry, which, frankly, was never my strong suit.
By the time I was sixteen, my interests had shifted entirely towards the humanities and graphic design. I discovered that I was far more drawn to creative problem-solving and visual storytelling than conducting empirical experiments. Looking back, I think the ambition changed because my childhood dream was based on escapism, whereas my later choices reflected my actual talents and what I genuinely enjoyed doing on a daily basis. While I still have a soft spot for ocean wildlife, I am much happier leaving the deep-sea exploration to the professionals.