Though it seems more prevalent in East Asian cultures, there are signs of it everywhere. It’s no longer admirable to be an intelligent or talented individual. Instead, there’s a mass interest in the one-in-a-million prodigy. It’s something of a “genius factor.” It started out as a kind of intrigue (on TV or online videos) and turned into a demand. Now a skilled pianist doesn’t have the same allure as an equally masterful twelve-year-old. It’s made me think of my age more often than I’d like to admit.
I’m almost conditioned to be impatient. Instead of wanting to take the time to learn, I’m fastened on being good now. Every year, it gets worse. It’s the desperation. I didn’t just want to be champion writer; I wanted the genius factor that comes with being young at the same time. Looking outside of myself, at the viral speed of Internet interests, I thought that that was the only way someone else could care. And I wouldn’t blame them for it.
Even I was convinced—what do I have to say ten years later that I couldn’t somehow torture out of myself now? After all, what is the writer without her hard-won readers? But each year passes easily and without incident. I don’t think I’m a one-in-a-million or that I can glean the genius factor from my very ordinary soul. I suppose coming to such an understanding is in itself admirable, if not to anyone else but me.