A Killer of Dreams
While I'm only 17 of last Saturday (2/1), I've already encountered a dream killer in life.
Unfortunately, to me, that dream killer is my father.
It's quite unfortunate, how my dream died because I didn't even realize it until a few years after it happened. So, let me tell you my story about my first dream killer.
It was, oh, four years ago, around the end of May. We had just received class recommendations for the next year of classes at my dance studio. There were four classes I wished to take, Ballet 6, Beginning Pointe, Advance Tap, and Musical Theatre. Ballet and Pointe were on one night, Tap and Musical Theatre on another. My parents only wanted me to do one night of dance, so I had to choose between the two nights. If I could go back to then, I would choose Ballet and Pointe, because now I long to go on Pointe, even if it's just for my senior year. But at that time, I was infatuated with tap. I adored the dance style, the rhythm, and I felt as if I picked up really quickly. So I went with tap and musical theatre. I mean, I still got to dance, so I was happy. My dad then pushed me to do more and more field hockey. I didn't complain, field hockey was (is?) fun, but I loved my studio more. Alas, I took a two-year break from ballet, not really by choice, but essentially ruining whatever chance I had to major in dance in college, or even dancing in a company as an adult. Now, I am taking ballet once again, but I miss how involved I used to be in my studio. I used to be in the volunteer company, which has grown to be a competition team. I hope maybe next year, just maybe, I could even just do the volunteer group. But let us not forget the struggles of college recruitment for field hockey. I don't know if it is what I want fully, but I am looking at a school, where if I end up stop playing field hockey, I can always still dance.
And so, my dream was to be a ballet dancer for a company, performing shows for others. Maybe one day, I can at least work for a company, maybe help run it. I love to dance with all my heart, probably more than hockey, but hockey has turned into my life, whether or not if I wanted it to.
That is my experience with a dream killer. I hope one day, if I have children (though I don't want to), that I can have them trust me, and let me know what they really want to do, so they don't have their dreams die, like mine.
In that moment our life changed.
we were left desolate,
The weather outside cried with us,
the heavens opening up,
showing their true power
Now our 3 became 2,
we were by ourselves,
while our world fell apart
A moment more was all we wanted,
but even that was ripped from us,
like the wind battering houses outside,
The world must hate us now,
they left us alone, while we fell apart
in the middle of a hurricane.
I Don’t Know, Translated a Few Times
Original Poem: "I Don't Know"
To ask what I seek
is a good question indeed
I do not know quite what I yearn for
is it a friend? or a lover?
I do not know
I think I yearn for a friend
one who wants to talk to me
and be there by my side
but also one like that
can be known as a lover
embracing me in their arms
I am a strange one
I know that much
for I long for many things
Do I want a friend?
or a lover?
or just someone to be there with me
To know what I seek
is something I do not
But for one
I think I seek comfort
in one form or another
Translaing Process....Irish.... Japanense....Scottish Gaelic....Norwegian....Icelandic....English
Ask what I want
It is certainly a good question
I don't know what to do
Do you have friends? Or girlfriend?
I do not know
I think I'll be friends
Someone who will talk to me
Be the side of me
But stuff like that
He can be called a lover
Take me to my lap
I'm a stranger
I know it completely
That is a lot to me
Need a friend?
Or someone with me
Find what I'm looking for
Inability to do so
I think you need comfort
In some way
those who follow
I have several who like to follow me day to day.
One is always there, looming in the back of my head, like glitter staying on everything. Looming like a large shadow, ready to swallow me whole. Overbearing somedays, not as bad the next. But over time, over time, its hard to tell what's a "good" and what's a "bad" day. It's been turning into days of "bad," "horrible," "terrible," and "worst." One coos words into my ears, like a mother and her baby. Except instead of kind, warm words, it's They hate you, you know? They don't want to be with you. They only feel pity for you, that's why they are here. That's not even the brunt of it. Oh, you absolutely suck. You could have gotten that (on a goal scored I might have been able to stop). Why don't you work harder, coach is so annoyed with you right now (on me at practice, in a drill). One is always 10 steps behind physically, but 20 steps ahead mentally, knowing how to break me down and ruin the small amount of peace in my head. One is always there from the start to the end of the day.
Two is always right behind me, biting at my heels, damn, like that annoying chihuahua at the end of the street. Questioning everything, barking doubts like the little yappy dog it is. However, it's barks are far from being yappy, and instead sounds like a rottweiler, growling at the mailman. What if you forgot to answer the question? or What if she's dead because she's not answering her phone? Two always says these, trying to get under my skin. Unfortunately, Two is almost always successful. In tandem with One, late nights are almost every night because of Them.
Three isn't supposed to be like One and Two, but they might as well be. Three acts the exact opposite of what they are supposed to be like, keeping me down, instead of lifting me up. Discouraging me with the unhelpful help from Two, the what-ifs course through my mind like Amazon River, current strong as god knows. Three is supposed to encourage me but instead pushes me closer and closer to rock bottom. With Three, I feel like the world is slipping away from me.
Four is a special case. I didn't even notice Them until a few years ago. They're always questioning who I am, who I love. Are you sure you like them? Or are you just forcing yourself? It's quite annoying. Four likes working with Two. They always question me, peppering me like a machine gun shoots bullets. Are you sure that's what you identify as? Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure? Constantly, over and over and over again. I try to ignore Four a lot. Of course, I can't, and they bite my heels like Two. And Four always, always, comes up and close at the worst times.
I'm sure I have more. I most definitely have more who follow me. Are a few good? Perhaps. I don't really know. My life is monotonous, with a sprinkle of events to pepper the taste of life.
while things may not be okay right now, they will be okay in the future.
a feeling drags the body down, deep into the abyss of darkness. retreat into thyself, into the abyss of the soul. sit there, legs hanging off the bed, eyes locked onto nothing, mind running too fast or saying the same thing slowly.
the mind wants tears to come, but the body has no more to give. eyes dry, mouth screaming, gaping hole aching in thy chest, the body shuts down, wanting to do no more.
the legs and feet move slowly, like a turtle, trudging against the hard floor, to the room where so much has happened. reaching for the handle, cold and smooth against thy palm.
the silver surface on the wall reflects the world’s view, red face, empty eyes, messy hair.
hands fumble for the familiar sharpness, mind knowing that this moment could always be the last.
back against the wall, body sliding down to sit on the floor, cold tile embracing the legs.
the blade pricks the skin, blood blossoming like flowers in the spring, running down the skin of the wrist, like a river coursing over rocks and dripping onto the white tile
eyes look up, familiar white looking back, pain erupting, spreading up the arm like a wildfire.
smoke dances on the edges of vision, the haziness fogging the mind.
relief is felt, but the sick mind cries for more pain, more relief, for what else could make this aching hole better?
the door with the cold, smooth handle bursts open, and a figure appears. the tears the sick body couldn't produce are made by the figure.
the blade is taken from the sick body and thrown in the bin where all rubble goes.
blood still babbles like the creek, but a cloth, like a large stone, stops the river from flowing.
help in the form of a screaming van and kind, sad eyes is called.
the smoke has overtaken the vision, now the mind sees nothing but black, and the body, unresponsive, refuses to move.
the body is taken to the clean place that smells like cleaning products and is taken to be poked and prodded right away.
the body, still as unresponsive as the mind, is pumped with blood from a stranger, the clean people hoping to fix what was lost by the sick mind.
finally, hours later, the body, and the mind, wake up.
the tears that couldn't be produced earlier, are produced now, but in confusion.
the sick mind wanted to die, yet the others wouldn't let it.
why the sick mind asks, why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?
but then, an outside figure tells them that they are loved, and other figures do care about them.
the mind doesn't understand at first but then, they get it a little bit. maybe others do care for them. maybe they are loved.
and they realize, maybe things aren't the best right now, and maybe they won't be alright tomorrow, but it will be ok in the future.
and then the mind realizes life is like a semicolon, it's okay to pause for a minute to recover and take a break to think, but, life has to continue eventually;
The Cathedral burned and tears flowed.
don’t mind me here, just filling up the space (◡‿◡✿)
Such a Shame, Notre Dame
once a structure to Our Lady,
standing, watching those in Paris,
came down a flaming yesterday
it started during Mass,
it's lucky no one was hurt
even though the Mass was never completed
twas such a shame
they couldn't save the spire
and the forest roof of Notre Dame
at least the Crown of Thornes,
the twin bell towers,
and Emmanuelle, the main bell, was saved
I, for one, am glad I saw,
and walked, experienced, and lived,
the beautifulness of the Notre Dame Cathedral
What I think
I think writers should be able to write characters of other races and nationalities... on one or two conditions
1. the author in question should research the said race and/or nationalities in depth, perhaps even talk to people of the race and/or nationality and thee race/nationality's relationships with other races/nationalities
2. if questioned about a topic the author mentions in the book about the race and/or nationality, they should have have a list of their research/notes to show that they aren't just speculating or making something up
I don't know, this is what I would hope to do if I was writing a story that includes people of different nationalities
So hey everyone!
I know I haven’t been the most active, but I’ve been pretty busy lately. I’m going to try to be more active, but ya know, school comes first.
For you Catholics out there, it’s the beginning of Lent, and normally with that people tend to give something up for the 40 day period as a challenge to themselves. It is supposed to be something that will make you a better person overall.
This year, I’m giving up something that may seem, how do I put it, unconventional? It’s normally a physical thing for most people, but this year for me, it is not.
I’ve decided to challenge myself by giving up self-degradation.
Obviously, there are times when you can’t notice you are doing it, and this is where I turn to you, my fellow Prosers.
Do you have any tips on stopping self-degrading yourself? Or any tips on how to realize when you are doing it?
And I also challenge you to give up something, whether you are Catholic or not, does it matter? If anything, challenge yourself to become better.
Thanks again Prose for being such an amazing community!