Diana, the art director sitting within extreme proximity of me (40cm to be exact), wrote this for me and stuck it on my computer sometime back. But every time if look at it, I’m surprised all over again at what I’ve grown up to become – a copywriter.

Of all my childhood ambitions – artist, poet, porridge seller, brick layer, SIA girl, mountain hermit – I’ve ended up with a pen in my hand and a head full of unrelated ideas.

It’s really not a bad thing, if you look at it from the outsider’s peeking hole. I get to saunter into the swanky Ogilvy office just 2 MRT stops away from my place. Sometimes, I get to cast really hot models for our projects, and make them do takes over and over again if they don’t get my script right.

On this exact day 2 years ago, I walked into Ogilvy rather happy after a Brewerkz afternoon pint and was offered a job. Over the past 365×2 days, there have been times I feel I’m the luckiest person alive to love what I do and get paid for it. And there have been times I feel like a prisoner bound to the swanky office chair, toyed to death by the sadistic guards. There are many days in between, and they are the hardest to get by.