In the dim light, the room is unrecognizable. I push myself up and out of bed, falling into a pattern my body and mind knows, but this morning; my heart aches to conceive. Looking in the mirror, I recognize the straw colored hair, features I’ve had forever, but struggle to recognize myself in this place, in the dim light of another day in a place I – in a another body? – have chosen to be.
Outside, the grey day matches my sense of displacement. It colors everything in shadow rendering the world generic. This could be any day in any city and I’m any person doing what people are supposed to do. Except I don’t want to be doing what I’m supposed to do. I want to be artistic without the poverty, marginal without the stereotypes, privileged without the responsibility. I want to live in a world where our greatest dreams can be realized no matter how crazy they are. Although my parents always told me I can do whatever I want to do, be whatever I want to be, right now this seems like a fairytale told to calm children’s anxiety over the future and lull them into thinking that what they really want to do is Finance and what they really want be an Analyst at a large Financial corporation, meet a fellow worker bee and produce 2.5 kids, live in an upscale neighbourhood and have some nice cars, trappings, etc…. And for those who always wanted to be an Artist or a Dreamer? Doesn’t really fit into the narrative.
I’ve been somewhere where I was me and it’s not here. It’s not doing this. It’s like living a nightmare everyday where I’m wearing someone else’s life. A grey puddle of days and weeks and hours. There has to be a cosmic change so I can reconcile with the girl bathed in illumination, where everything she did wasn’t always right, but she was living how she wanted. All I need is a spark- something to jolt me into finding the place in this world where I belong, and I feel like me. I’m actively seeking this place out universe… show me the way.
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