Finding Me

Nothing can be worse than being in the oddest place with uncomfortable silence suspended around. I am sitting straight on the peculiarly comfortable couch with my hands firmly crossed on my laptop, typing this piece of emotion that I am feeling right now. Involuntarily, I am also removing a stubborn strand of hair from my face and enjoying the fascinating thing, the carpet under my feet. Ohh!! feels like velvet caressing my feet. It is my performance review, and my gaze goes back again and again to the carpet when I realize that I had been dumbly staring at the projector and screen. Amid the excel sheet, I chase rainbows and stars.

"Please, take the tea," I took the teacup and sipped it, repulsed from inside. Who makes that awful tea?

Everybody seemed to be in their own world, mostly fiddling with their phones or chatting animatedly in groups.

Am I thinking about my performance review? No, I am thinking about my silly dreams. I have always placed my dreams high upon a shelf, and when people whom I knew and loved would come by, I would show them: "See my dreams, do you understand and feel it?" Time has gone by and years cycled on. I did take hold of the dream and followed it. But fell so far down into the ideal of what I wanted that somewhere along the way I will not even remember what I wanted to be.

I took each one piece by piece and part by part, and tucked them away. How silly, I would tell the people I knew and loved, how silly it is to think of dreams. Dreams are for children's stories and those with their heads in the clouds. This is reality, where there are bills and mortgages that need to be mowed. This is life, where we get up each morning and go to work and decide what to cook for supper.

But life is all about going beyond reality. Imagine you stand in the middle of the road without any sign, without any map, and you don't know where to go. All you know is that you don't belong here. You feel like somewhere, something is waiting for you. At that place, you can find inner peace. You don’t feel different; you can be “human.” Does it sound unrealistic? Maybe.

Try it out. I want to scream to all these men sitting here, “I don’t belong here. Pay me, and I will sit silent but i love writing fantasy best of all. I want to believe in magic and not these excel sheets. Magic is amazing. I think Tolkien is incredible. I love Prestige, Midnight in Paris, and not your app videos. I like Wishing Flowers, Black Tea, stars, painting, coloring, writing with colored pens, doing nothing, waterfalls, pretty notebooks, the color black, eating good food, drinking nice tea, and spending time with loved ones. I like walking around the bush, climbing trees, taking naps, hoarding chocolate, playing in the rain, and finding hollows where fairies used to hide.”

(Scene now: I run away, the laptop shut… not even looking at them)