L'esperanto

This is a letter to whoever takes more time dwelling in dreams than coming up with a to-do list.

You know, the reason I disliked The Alchemist so much -something i didn't have the chance to discuss it with anyone,as I was frowned upon immediately after mentioning how badly I struggled to finish the book and swallow up the silly ending- is because I really believe people shouldn't dream of what they can't achieve.
I'm a realist. I don't day-dream ; I contemplate.

I think it is okay to have a wide imagination and think, only think, of all the possibilities ahead, if we only keep that within the limits of our heads.
Dreamers are weaklings, most of the time (and that's my personal opinion, dear reader, you are entitled to argue) because they don't have it in them to face the real world, nor to be someone in their lives.
So instead, they turn to their  imagination and make themselves significant, you know, like an artist that puffs up his model and makes him handsomer and more muscular. That's just pathetic.

I get that Mr. Paulo was trying to  inspire us to follow our dreams yada yada yada...But if realizing dreams with mere incessant efforts was possible, why would these people wait for encouragement through this book of yours, Sir ?
What is life, real life? it's not really about dreaming. That, everyone can do. It's about being practical and smart enough to know your own limits, and dream correspondingly. If it's too big, it's better to invest your energy in something more down to earth. At least that's what I learnt after pursuing the path of engineering and science.
Sincerely,
-An Ex-dreamer, now a pragmatist

Illuminatus

"In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the

guillotine" - Milan Kundera

If it's possible to review your own life, to watch it in a dark a theater, alone, on a wide screen, pop-corn in hand, on a cozy armchair, would you- I'm not going to ask whether or not you'll watch it until the end, rest assured, as that is impossible- but would you have the same feeling about certain moments in your life, now you are witnessing them again ?

Mishaps, being punished for something you didn't do as a child, your first shock in humanity ; when you realized how brutal this world can be, your first big lie, Teenage crises , the conflict between right and wrong with you stuck in between, your first F in a test , the first real dispute with your parents, your first fight with a friend/lover, the departure of a close person from this life, being strangers with a once close friend..etc

There are so many events that can be condensed into one life-time, so many you won't remember all of them; but you will always remember how they made you feel . Because feelings are dormant sensations that awaken once in a while, with a scent, a touch, a picture, a color...feelings could be entrapped and left for keepsake inside any object of our choice, they sense the proximity of the object and resolutely bounce into our minds...remember...remember...REMEMBER..

When I watch the movie of my life, a frequent occurrence during which I enter a state of deep reverie I don't easily get out of, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling all the way. I would laugh at my stupid adventures and the silly fights I had, all the foolish decisions I've made so far, the things I lost and I thought I'd never find, the tests I didn't study for and consequently failed, how being around a certain individual who's around no more made me feel, instead of how their absence crushed me. And all the mistakes I've made...the things that I considered as calamities at the time...they would all look so logical to me, so educating, and so luminous.

It's very interesting that memories, whether sad or happy, have a peculiar charm; they look very luminous from afar, and misty, untouchable when you walk through them during moments of reminiscing.

When we remember, dwell in the past, it's always nostalgia that possess us. Ardent nostalgia ; instead of grieving  and morning over the lost youth, and the people who are no longer here. Instead, we talk about the deceased with evident festivity, and the days of our childhood with joy.

But what is it that transfigures memories so much as to change the impressions they leave at the back of our minds ? what makes them so...brilliant ? We often lose memories, or make up memories, consciously or unconsciously, we develop them, add to them parts that were never there, trim some of the painful parts, make them more radiant,
But never gloomier.

Of course, if one had so much control over their memories - and believe me, we ,you and I,do- why would they distort them ? No one, absolutely no one, seeks unhappiness so much as to mutate their past into horrid nightmares. We never exaggerate our mistakes, they all look smaller and sillier the older we get, because we already lived with the consequences, and because we already know how bad it can get, and that it can't get any worse . So instead, we get our pallets and brushes, and set to color the past with the most delightful and refreshing colors. After all, our past is a precious part of our own, to beautify the past is to beautify ourselves in our own eyes.

We Were There

The best part of my childhood was spent waiting for Sara to come at precisely 3:00 pm ,waving to me from afar just when she turns around the corner. And how we used to skate in our yard and  roam around on our bikes exploring the abandoned houses and getting chased out by the concierge.

We built a tree house, except that it was on the ground. There was an enormous, enormous space -now occupied by a creepy-looking school, that was covered with little bushes here and there and which made the perfect place to play hide and seek, and getting lost.

Abdullah was what you would call a natural jerk ; a mischievous brat beyond measures. I wasn't any better so we got along just fine. He was our neighbor's kiddo...I didn't consider him as a "friend", he was a different entity, more like a family member, but a family member that I wasn't allowed to fight with in front of my mom, so I did it behind her back. I just opened my eyes and he was there, the insufferable creature..We just spent too much time together to realize we aren't really family.
I liked his older sister much better though. Not only we had the same name,but she used to carry and toss me really high in the air. It was awesome.

We met with Sara when I was 6 years old. It was the first day of school and we were standing in line, well, as close to a line as a group of first-graders would be able to form.
I was standing behind Abdulla , because our mothers told us to stick together. He was spouting some philosophical nonsense while I was examining the faces of these boring kids, looking all nervous and timid, when I heard a sharp, girlish voice : pssshheeeeeeww~

She was standing behind me, flying an invisible plane. I smiled because I thought it's impressive to not give a damn about the world..you know, first day of school, a big deal for every kid, you have to behave yourself and try to make friends.....I think I was always like that, taking interest in eccentric people, and getting easily bored with the usual...But she was different ; she wasn't boring. Apparently she thought of my smile as an invitation to make conversation...In the afternoon when we came back by the same bus, we realized we live 3 houses apart, and almost immediately became friends, without noticing and without asking for it, with that innocent fluency with which kids become friends.


We became good friends during grade school, Sara, Abdullah and I. Except for the fact that Abdullah hated Sara's guts, calling her spoiled and stupid and telling her off. I pretended I didn't notice though. For they were both equally stupid-yet-important to me .. ..Life is much simpler when you are a kid, you just content yourself with the false belief that you will stay friends forever, making secret strategies to save the world in case aliens decided it's time to attack the earth, or planning pranks to pull on the kids from the next neighborhood...Nothing could ever separate us.
Little did we know that this is just a child's dream.

I remember when Abdulla decided it's uncool to hang out with the two of us and slowly drifted away to join the guys. I don't remember how I felt when that happened though. Probably relief..Good riddance, egg-head. Sara and I drifted apart when we stopped attending the same school.

How many years have passed ? I don't know,15 years ?

I met Sara recently at this wedding, I recognized her immediately although she got taller and dyed her hair and apparently got married and is currently pregnant with her second child.. But she had the same aura around her.
Time leaves it's mark on our appearances, but the interior, the soul remains intact. We chatted for a short while..there wasn't really anything to talk about of course. ..It's very painful when the only thing you have in common with a once precious friend is memories...hazy memories of our childhood that almost feel like a sweet dream..
Dreams and reality shouldn't mix , people from the past shouldn't spring to the present.
I moved on , remember ? you left me alone, by the tree house for years, I waited and waited for eternity...but you never came back..you grew up, leaving the child in me morning the memories.

It's not really that we stopped being friends ; for people don't consciously make such decisions..well, in most cases anyway. It was Time that separated us. Time ; age, life, growing up, adolescence..Call it what you want..The undeniable fact is that people change, they grow old and they grow apart.

We were inseparable once upon a time;I didn't even attend her wedding.
He and I were like siblings, I don't know which college he attended.

I would say with certainty that we wouldn't even exchange greetings if we met anywhere...Perhaps a quick, imperceptible nod before turning the other way, signifying a mutual agreement to keep trapped this stage of our lives, although dear and precious, between photo albums and ancient Ninja Turtles stickers in the old attic.