Friday, September 9, 2011

I dream of planes and boats, and sun dresses.

I still dream of running away. Often just as much as I dread leaving. I still dream of starting anew in a foreign place, of learning a new language or practicing my French, of meeting new people of different races and cultures, and most of all - I still dream of finding myself. It's ironic, the thought of finding oneself in a foreign place, in an unfamiliar setting, but since I can't find myself here, then perhaps I'm somewhere else.

Sometimes I sleep too long, and live a little too much that I seem to forget this dream - tucked away in the ashes of extinguished fires, perhaps sleeping too.

So whenever I remember (like I do today), I do what I can to fuel those ashes back or to wake them up to reality. I realized that in order to move forward towards this dream, I have to sleep and live less. It seems quite mad, yes? But these should be done in preparation for waiting tables at a cafe, meeting poets and artists for wine on thursday nights, biking through the hills of Chianti in Tuscany, taking writing classes on weekends, listening to sad spanish guitars through the open window of my rented room - distressed, old, with muddy tap water. Sometimes, I think of these things with a sense of melancholy. I have to sacrifice so many things, and for what? Who knows if things will turn out the way I planned (in such a detailed manner, up to the cost of train rides and student loans).  But I'd rather risk it, all for the sake of finding out. I swear that if I do not get in UPD for my MA next year, 2 years of my life would be devoted entirely on making these plans come true. Live and sleep less, so I can work more and save up for taking a life class from the world.

I sound too dreamy, don't I? Goodness, is this a dream rather than a dream, if you know what I mean. Am I dreaming my life away? God I sure hope not, because that would mean I'm sleeping.

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