Long time no post, I will be honest, I have been think a lot lately and for a person like me, who is a worrisome person, that is never a good thing.
When I get up in the morning, and look at myself in the mirror, I wonder if I am happy, it might be because when I was younger, I would always dream of the home that I would have, filled with books, the room were I would work on my book and finish with great pride and love. As well as the place where I could just fill with my hope for the future.
But as a kid, I always had big dreams, I think the one that always sticks with me was the one where I would write my story that started in middle school, and came back to me when found the "origin papers" I wrote, and wondered what would the story be at the end? So I would work so hard on my "Book" for months that turned into years, believing that it would be finish when my final year of high school comes to able to share with my friends and the world.
That was four years ago.
I was never able to finish it as a book, because I never was happy with what I wrote after school, and when I wrote it I did not feel happy or love, and the life treats you, I would say to myself "Why am I writing this? I have more important things to do right now." and "I have a life to manage!". Now as it stands, and I am asking again myself "When did I stop believing I could write my story?".
When my world was smaller from the view of a school kid, I have things that made me happy, like everyone else, for me my dearest wish was to write this story, I believe was because I thought it would save me from being afraid of the future, wondering if I would be okay at the end of the day.
Now to the point.
I got older, and now I still have this idea, but that is all it is, an idea and nothing more. I have tried, and I am still trying to write it, even just the first one, but one side of me keeps telling me that I have to stop dreaming. What has this series done, it's not going anywhere.
Dreams are something I always held very close to my heart, just like hope, it was something that told that life is not bleak. By believing in my own fantasy, it always gave me a place I could be where I was welcome, had wonderful friends, places that had many mysteries, and endless possibilities.
A fantasy, indeed.
Sometimes dreams come true, and sometimes they do not workout the way you want. I have tried to keep believing that I would have the strength to finish my story, and to see it when it ends and where it would go after that. I wondered what would the old high school kid that I once would say? If I told him that his dream was not going to come true, because his life just would not allow the work to go forward, nor was his passion still there.
The future has come, and it is time to grow up, and stop dreaming.
"There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy"