But this isn't about the dreamer. For I was someone else too.
Once upon a time, I was a romantic. I believed in destiny.
I believed in God. I dreamt of a future, where I had made my parents happy, and my sister proud, by being a graduate; to walk on stage to get my post graduation diploma with the graduation cap on my head....
I believed in dreams. I dreamt of myself standing on stage, receiving an Oscar, or a Booker Prize, or a Nobel Prize for Literature, and address a large audience, all of whom were my fans.
And I believed in love. I dreamt of moments where I would be having fun in my room with my beautiful wife and adorable daughter and son. And oh, how I would have met her... I told myself, I would find love if I find an attractive woman, and if I meet her twice on the same day, then I would ask her out, and a love story would bloom, for coincidences were made by God for you to act upon.
At 13, I thought I was in love. But what I did was harass my classmate for two years. It wasn't love. It was a whim of emotions decided over a coin toss.
At 15, I thought I was in love. And I was, but we were best friends, and we wanted to stay that way, for it was much more beautiful than a romantic entanglement. I am grateful for that friend.
At 16, I had my first love. And she asked me to seek the help of God. And with God I shared my three dreams, and asked Him to help me fulfill them.
In a year, I lost the love. In another year, my desire of studying my dream course was shattered by my parents, who I diligently obeyed. And in the next four years, my dreams and desires were tarnished within the prisons of education I never wanted in the first place, while what I dreamt of was acquired by countless many.
At 22, I left my parents and home to strike out on my own. But just when I started to get closer to my dream, my parents intervened with bills and loans. I realized I never truly left them.
At 23, I met a girl in a theatre. We shared same interest and craziness. When we got out of the theatre, she asked me for my facebook account. And I, believing in destiny, told her, "If we are meant to see again, we shall see again, and then we shall exchange numbers." I never saw her since.
In the next decade, I struggled and failed. The ones with me flourished. The bills and loans were paid off. But my desire to learn was postponed. My desire to tell stories were put on hold. And my desires of love were shattered. And yet I pursued, and so was called a bumbling fool, a desperate lad, and a failed dreamer.
At 32, I thought I found someone who could love me. But it was short lived. She said it was my fault. And by then I learned to accept all of my failures and downfalls as my faults.
At 33, I found one with whom I connected well. But due to many irregularities, she said we couldn't be together. Desiring her happiness, I forsaked mine.
At 35, I found out that I could no longer pursue my dream of learning in any institute, not unless I pay a hefty fee. I found out undesirable truths about my family. I found out that all my journey, all my pain...everything was for nothing.
Now, I learn through books and videos relentlessly; cannot let the passion dry off just because the world and time says so. And I tell stories through a document in my laptop, for I learned that I just want to tell stories; it was the journey that made me happy and sane, the end results matter less to me now. Strange how two decades broke the child in me and grew in its place a cynic.
I am almost 36 now.
I was in a cafe, where I saw a wonderful lady with an adorable toddler. And I asked myself if that was what I had desired. I shook my head, paid my bill, and rode towards the supermarket to get the elixir that marketed itself as one that could keep sleep at bay.
As I stepped out of the shop, I saw the mother and daughter again. for once, both my heart and mind told me, 'There she is. You have seen her twice. Destiny has acted as you have always desired. Now it is you who has to make a move.'
Instead I walked away. I can no longer love. I no longer desire love. To love is easy. To be loved is difficult. And to be able to accept that love is the most difficult. And one who has reached that point of life, I believe, does not deserve to be in love.
And it's ok. I might be an undead romantic.
But I am still a dreamer, a storyteller.
And that's all that matters.
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