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Trying to decide on a future, an 18 year old male from Christchurch New Zealand explores different career paths

Sitting in my gloomy bedroom staring at myself in the mirror, I wonder where this life will take me. I'm 18 now, as of 3 days ago, and my life until this point has had no definite direction. I've always wandered, never settling on a certain path. I always prefered to make my own. Now I have to leave the comfort of mums home and start again on my own somewhere new, somewhere different. As I critique my looks in the mirror, my mind begins to wander in search of a suitable career path.

My eyes are looking at me, blue pools staring out from under dark eyebrows. My black hair is messy and unkempt, my thick jawline covered with dark stubble. The nose of a hawk points at itself in the mirror as my mind considers the idea of a job to do with birds. Our neighbour has a giant aviery in his back garden, in which I often found myself. I loved sitting in the enclosure with all the birds, refiling their feed trays, providing them all with fresh water as they chirped and sang and fussed around me as only birds can. I was constantly relaxed when working with them. I loved the thrill of finding the doves nesting, 3 eggs hidden under the soft white feathers of the parents. I loved watching the male peacocks display their glorious tails for the pea-hens, strutting around like they were the best things on this earth, like every other creature should be looking up to them. Opening the return enclosure in the evening for the homing pigeons, and watching as they flew into the pen with perfect timing, always ducking throught the opening at just the right angle. Quails running away from my approaching feet as I carry buckets of dirty straw from the enclave and return with fresh straw for nesting. Chickens pecking hungrily at my feet when I arrive at night to feed them the days scraps from my home. But my favourite thing about working with the brids was spring, when the chicks hatched and their screeching voices added to the cacophany of sound that already filled the avery, as they cried impatiently for their attentive parents to bring them more food. Nothing would ever top how I had felt when, not long after old Mrs Brusary's cat found a way into the giant cage and ate 3 of the quails, I got to watch the saved eggs hatch in their incubator, and fed them their first meal.

Thinking of food makes my stomach rumble, and I realise it must nearly be time for breakfast. But I have all day at home to contemplate my career path, and I will need all the food, i mean energy, I can get, along with some coloured pens and some more paper. The piece I have been doodling on now has 'Averian (?)' scrawled in large letters across the top, rough sketches of birds all over it, and bullet pointed notes of why I would enjoy such a job scribbled down near the bottom. The smell of bacon in the frypan tingles my nostrils and I put my pen down. Definately time for breakfast now. I'll come back to this after breakfast.  

The End

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