Dreams are not meant to turn to turn into reality. If they do, that is supposed to be paranormal.
Amidst everything that I had as a human being, my world was vividly dark. I was aloof and all I had were my miseries. The thing about our miseries is that they are all ours, exclusively ours. Only in the darkness of night, when I used to dream, I had that light of hope.
Life is normal. It is supposed to be normal. Life is normally extraordinary. If you are happy where you are, that is extraordinary. Not everyone is capable of it. They smile superficially but the pain they bear deep down in the secret chambers of their heart is what makes them who they are. They can't let go of pain to be happy in reality.
I was no different. All that my heart encaged was my asset, my persona. I was so absorbed in the miseries of life that even though I let go of the faded past, it had become a character in me that was so hard to rip off. I didn't recognize the person on the other side of the mirror 'cos I loathed that reflection so much. All the virtues had vanished in the shadows of vanity and the pain that I bore in the secret chamber of my heart was so aching that it was impossible for me to see through them. I was a naive person set into the world of oblivion and what was I supposed to turn into! Phoenix!
No. I wasn't that. I was just a human being. I am. But when miseries make your canopy, you are left with crisis of identification. I knew not who I was anymore. I thought that one day maybe I would, as well, turn into a stargazer, a lone ranger, a horizon seeker. But that was not any close to where I wanted to lead my destiny. Well I'm the driver of my destiny, not that destiny is mine. I wanted to touch the stars, fly over the horizons and not sit and covet for them. I realized I didn’t have wings though.
Sometimes all we need is a little more patience. When it's not the right time, it's just not the right time. Sometimes, we take care of certain things in our life like a treasure, as if that is the most precious one, like we are never going to have one like it ever, that our life would stop if that thing stops to exist or disappears from the gravity of our existence. And we get carried away by the enormity it creates in our lives, mostly because it is that ideal thing that we always dreamt of as a part of our existential identification. And when it's snatched or seized or taken or simply lost, we believe that we have stopped to exist, that the soul we are is taken with it. Then it's like we have turned to lifeless sculpture, idle, numb, only waiting for the formality of the vital systems to shut. We tend to forget that the soul can't be taken, that the stars and the moon and the sun continue to nourish our soul with life, that the reflection at the other side of the mirror is still us, that till our vital systems run we are capable of recreating our own identity and that we only stop to exist if we are willing to believe so.
Dreams come to an end. So does life. But the way we live our life is all that matters.
Credit #binita_kc
