Great things

Why am I doing what I’m doing?

This is a relentless echo in everyone’s consciousness as you grow up. You can’t escape from it, although you can temporarily hide, it’s never too far.
An echo that slowly adds pressure on your shoulders, growing until it crushes you into pieces: you can’t be born to wait your last breath.

I don’t know about others, but I am here to prove the universe wrong.

Odds are not in your favor to achieve something great: not the right society, not the right genetics, not the right time, maybe not even the right universe.
Well, tell the odds to go fuck themselves, I’m doing it.
Pressure will add up, will crush me into pieces, but I will wake up the next day with the same rage to win.

I will do great things, against the odds. I can’t rest until I prove the universe wrong.