When I was younger, I dreamed of a world filled with riches I didn’t have. As I grew older, the more refined my wish became. There’s nothing in this physical world that I wish for. The dream of money, of a handsome husband, of an expensive car and of the other materialistic things became the dream for peace of mind, of giving endlessly, of quietness away from the suburban life, from the city, for the stars that shine at night and the birds that chirp at dawn. My dream became even more unreachable.
As an artist, I want to be closer to the nature that brought me- us -color. I want to live in a small cottage by a lake, surrounded by a thin forest and of wild animals that built a home where I built mine.
I want the sky to be at the tip of my fingers and the mountains, the ground, the water, the air, the weather of all sorts at the tip of my tongue. I want to have the choice of seeing them as much as I want without the distraction of civilization at its extremity.
And someday, somehow, I’ll find some way to escape this wretched life of dependability in the superficial things.
It’s Christmas Eve and at home, we celebrate Christmas on this day. There’s no Santa Claus because we are Catholic, but I’ve always had an undeniable belief in Santa. He may not come to my home, but he visits those who believe stronger. This year, I have wavered in every thing I have believed in. This Christmas, I am feeling quite lonely and alone and enveloped in indescribable sadness that I can’t explain to anyone despite my resolution to be more open to all those who care for me.
Why is it difficult to be truthful to others about my feelings?
This Christmas does not feel very happy to me and I’m somehow okay with that. I’m alright that it will go by just like any other day because if I think about this too, I will just become sadder.
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