Dream of a Dreamer

I miss the times when I live my Dreams with the comfort of Reality; when I see these two seemingly opposing elements as twins, walking happily side by side along Life’s promising shore. I long for the days when I can just watch the world unveil itself before me; when the transition between night and day drives my imagination crazy until I can no longer keep it in my head and I would grab my pen and paper and write something outrageous. I yearn for the times when I enjoy indirectly describing subjects using profound sentences, compelling adjectives, action-packed verbs and teasing adverbs. I want to come back to the times when using fancy and gargantuan words was my favorite game to play.

I thought I would never tire of those times but current reality forces me to think and write in the simplest way possible. No more deep and menacing thoughts. Not too much word play. Enough complex-compound sentences just for defining a certain object. Mind your grammar and observe proper sentence construction. Words are cut short, articles even shorter.

I have to be cautious of what I write because I am a writer. And present times require a writer to be more concise, articles more conducive to understanding, words more compact to cater to readers who have little time to spend in reading and understanding my complicated line of thought.

I fulfilled my dream of being a writer but was it worth it when I am suppressed of my own thoughts? Was it worth it when my style of writing was bent just so I can conform to the norms of writing for the society? It’s not for me that I write anymore but for the companies that I represent. I no longer write based on what I witness of life. I write whatever information they feed me, of what they and of what they want others to believe in.

The weight of Reality overwhelms my Dreams and I can only serve one master, no matter how hard I try to appease both. I am a mere mortal, living in the present where dreams are hidden desires of the past and breathtaking temptations of the future. Reality is in the present and its weight causes my shoulders to sag until I can no longer think of anything else but surviving the pain it brings.

I never imagined reality to be a struggle and as much as I don’t want to admit it, it’s my fault. I chose this path. I have no other avenues to turn to. At least, this field sustains me and provides for me so that I can survive. In today’s world where dreams are often crushed by painful realities and geared towards trend and practicality, I’m just glad I was able to step onto the threshold of my profession despite the now obvious lack of passion. One day, I pray, that I will once again fervently dream, see the rawness and beauty of life and recreate moments in which I couldn’t care less in the world and just write.