Tag Archives: dreams

What I’ve always wanted

I am almost 22 years old.  I know, I know, that is still so young, but in the eyes of a 22 year old such as myself, I can’t help but notice how much time I’ve wasted since I graduated high school in 2010.

I’ve seen friends go through University, many of which are finishing with the next year.  I’ve seen classmates get married and have a child, some of them even two children by now!  I have seen happiness, and successes, and travels… and I have seen them all through the screen of my laptop.

I deleted my Facebook account about 6 months ago because I was sick of comparing my reality and my happiness to others.

I remember when I was still in high school, all I ever thought I wanted for myself was a husband who would love me and children I could raise and love.  But that was never enough for anybody.  All I ever heard was that I’m stupid to think I can rely on that kind of future, and that it will never happen for someone like me.  And maybe that’s true, I thought.  So eventually I guess I just let that fantasy go.  After all, it was just a fantasy.  I moved to the city and enrolled in University for a year.  Of course it never lasted, as I wasn’t happy going to school and felt aimless as I didn’t know what path I wanted to pursue.

But today, for the first time in a long time, I thought about what I wanted again.  And once again, I thought to myself that I just want to nest.

I want to build a home.  I want to kiss someone special in the morning and send them on their way.  I want to rouse his children from their beds and make their every morning special.  I want to spend my day alone, exercising, cleaning, baking–nesting.  I want to welcome a beautiful family home to their paradise every day.  Let them know I love them and embrace the knowledge that I have people to love me back.

I don’t want a lot.  I just want that.  And it’s easy for people to persuade me into believing that that is just me being lazy and wanting someone to take care of me, but I really don’t think that is what this is at all.  In fact, I know that this is what I want because it is me who wants to take care of someone.  Maybe it’s a simple dream and maybe I should expect more from myself, but this is how I picture myself when I’m at my happiest.  At home.  A home that I made for people that I love.

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Cosmic Dream Action

I’ve been very sad lately.  My heart has been barren and lonely.  My mind has been distracted.  Disoriented.

I’ve decided to try and keep in touch with my sub-conscious.  I’m going to keep a dream diary, starting tonight.  My ultimate goal is going to be lucid dreaming.

Why am I doing this?  Numerous reasons I guess.  I’ve always been a dreamy individual.  I frequently get lost throughout the day in thought, fantasizing about anything and everything, from mundane to fantastical.  There are many times I recall something that I’m sure enough is something I made up, until I start creating memories and convince myself that there’s no way that experience never happened.  I relive so many memories, and recant them to people who are in them only to have them look at me in confusion.  My memories are my own.  My own creation, my own fantasy, my own sub-conscious.

What is real and what isn’t?  What do I feel and what feelings am I misplacing?  I want to know these things.  I want to explore my inner self.

Ever since I were little I’ve contemplated my life and what aspects of it are real.  Is it strange to realize and accept that I am capable and potentially have created a great many of my memories?

I’ve always thought to myself that if I consider myself to be aware of something, it ought to not be true.  So if I am aware that I am a dreamer, if I am aware that I am a make-believer, then I am immune to actually dreaming and make-believing.  If I am aware that I am sad, than how can I actually be sad?

I don’t want to feel like I am discrediting my own feelings and my own reality anymore.  I want to know.

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Often when I was little, I would wake up in the dead of night, positive that my bed were violently shaking even a nanosecond into my coming-to.  It was always startling, but it never felt entirely threatening.  Perhaps I will learn what such an experience meant for me.

Perhaps I will be able to navigate my life to the fullest, having found a deeper connection to myself and what I feel.

But to be honest, a huge part of me wants to learn to lucid dream so that I can relive and expand upon memories that I constantly yearn for.  So I can go back and spend another night with someone who remains in my heart despite all the time between us.  So I can visit my long-forgotten happiness by dreamlight, and slowly let my reality fade into the dissonance that was my sub-conscious.

Beautiful Dreamer

BannermentsMy sister graduated this past weekend.  I took some time off of work and returned home for a few days.  Overall, I received the experience very well.  It was however, quite the arduous emotional journey.

I got to spend some time in my favourite place for a couple days beforehand.  You know the place–my family away from family!  It was a pleasant visit.  We make many trips to Starbucks these days, and I’ve been very loose with my wallet.  I guess for now I will enjoy the simple pleasures of luxury coffee and clothes shopping on a whim!  I did earn a promotion recently, afterall.  Did I mention?

Thusly, my trip finished back in my hometown for my sister’s grad.  Even though my birthday is not for a couple days, we did decide to squeeze in a small party for me.  I know you did not know my sister all too well, but she can at times be faint in benevolence.  Under the circumstances of the weekend being “hers”, a cake and party and presents for someone else were not well-received.  Little did she know, I was not aware I was even being given a party–much less presents–and yet, I decorated my own cake while my mom attended hers.  I wasn’t as upset as I would have assumed I’d be.

The trip was mentally exhausting though in that, from the moment I walked in, I felt my father judging me.  His first words to me were a discouraging “what have you done to your eyelashes?”.  He meant eyebrows.  I guess in a way I’ve become my own person in the city.  Sure, I’m still dependent on my parents financially, but I have changed a lot since I started working at Starbucks.  I guess the obvious indicator would be the fact that I invest a lot of time in myself now.  What I wear, how I dress my features, and how I consider another’s perception of me.  So I “paint” my eyebrows, as my mother calls it.  And while he made me feel insecure for a brief moment, I felt validated in the fact that only hours earlier I had been complimented by a trio of joggers stopping in at work for iced coffees.  They’d asked where I get them done, and when I gushed back that I do them myself, they retorted that I could make a lot of money!

Anyways, I’m on a rant.  Though you did always tell me you liked listening to me.  I guess I’d just like you to know that in a way, I was confident in myself and what I can do for myself, even in light of something as silly as knowing my eyebrows are the bomb.

Where things really got interesting was the night before my sister’s grad.  I had a mini meltdown because she wasn’t letting me wear what I wanted to wear, and between my opinionated mother and father, my naive grandmother, and my sister’s dresscode, I’d begun to feel stifled.  In the end she let me wear what I wanted, and I wore what she wanted for family pictures.  And you know what?  I rocked both outfits!

But even more so, my sister rocked hers.  She was beautiful, xxxxx.  And I’d wished you were there.  Even more so than I did while my brother droned on about his upcoming wedding, or while my sister danced and draped herself in her boyfriends arms.  I didn’t want you there out of jealousy, I just wanted you there to be a part of it all.  Because I guess in my heart you are still my family, and I wished even one moment of you had been captured by our cameras and preserved with us for forever.  I’d wished you were a part of the magic.

I was honoured with her first dance.  And I know it wasn’t a wedding, and that sounds silly, but as soon as we all stepped down onto the dancefloor to congratulate her, she looked only at me and held out her arms.  You would have laughed.  I certainly wasn’t her best dance of the night.

More pictures ensued–beautiful smiles, flagrant poses, eccentric Planted and Poisedpersonalities, and backdrops of whimsy.  It was all very special, and the laughs and memories will be cherished forever.  Even without you.

She was beautiful, xxxxx.  She was suddenly 5 years old again, and the thesis in my story of life and love.  She was the remark of a lonely child’s request to have something to hold on to.  She was my beautiful dreamer.

Tunnel Vision

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  Whether or not it is within sight is irrelevant–it’s just there. It’s a tunnel, and all tunnels come to an end.

The tunnel is long.  It is dank and suffocating.  It echoes the feelings I thought had come to pass, and is relentless in doing so.  There’s no escaping.  Not until I’ve found the proverbial light.

Amidst the noise of my heavy heart, I grasp desperately at the walls for any exit, any premature escape from my self-stencilled Hell.  It is dark though, unless maybe the darkness is all I can see.  Maybe my peripherals are failing me.  Maybe there is something I am missing in this tunnel–this winding, cavernous, objectified state of affairs.

Maybe I’m not in a tunnel at all.

Yet I’ve come to see that, within myself, in this very moment, I am on a set course.  I see only one motive of circumstance in my life; I follow it blindly, aimlessly, yet distinctly.  Everything else is a fog of deceit.

The life I am leading–no, the life I am following–is one that has been predetermined.  I have adjusted my destination to be the result of neurotic discourse.  I have tempted fate to find answers for me.  I have abandoned my aspirations in favour of my aspirations for another.

My life has become a tunnel.  I am blind to my reality, I am short of my expectations.  I am in pursuit of something that has become my only viable option–my only light.

My tunnel has exhausted me.  All has been for naught.  Every feeling, every notion, every dream was but to be expended on another’s freedom from their own bindings.

And I have spent many days resentful of the fact that I have aided someone who has hurt me in escaping from their tunnel; finding their light.  But perhaps I did no such thing.  Perhaps I was their light.