Forgotten Dreams

It was one of those days where you woke up knowing that if you were going to have a great day or otherwise. It was the latter for me. Showering the pang of sadness just didn't seem to cut it. Sitting under the shower for at least an hour, closing my eyes and just listening to the water running down from my already-wet hair to my ears, all over my face and to my neck just seemed to make everything worse. The soft sound of running water over my ears would have brought peace and serenity but instead it somehow just deepened my emotions. I got out from the shower with a feeling overwhelming me that today is not just an ordinary day.

I picked up The Notebook from my table and start flipping through the pages. Names of the characters that were once unknown to me now seemed so familiar. Through experience, I've always wanted to watch movies that were based on books. Harry Potter was the first ever movie I've watched with a tied-in fiction book. Big mistake naturally, you would compare it with the book, and setting your hopes so high that you'd eventually be disappointed after catching the movie. Nevertheless, I still watch the series. But then on, I learnt that we should appreciate both the book and the movie. And today, I watch all the movies adapted from the books first and read the books later on when I have the character's faces seared into my mind.

Reading a book is an amazing thing. Placing faces of characters into your imagination, moving them like puppets the way you want them to, making them speak the words written in the dialogue, portraying emotions, as if all of this was happening right in front of you but you are just an invisible figure in the scene. You see what the characters see, you smell what they smell, you feel what they feel. Every word you read, you start filling in the details in your imagination and the thing is what makes it so amazing, all of this, happens right at that moment, almost immediately.

I've now rambled on like I always do. Somehow I just like random things popping into my head, it makes it more, well, it makes my life or rather my mind a more interesting place. So I take the book and start reading about Noah and Allie and their love. One chapter was what I said to myself. One chapter became to one more chapter and that became to one more page. Soon I've past half the spine of the book. The only reason why I occupied myself in reading was not only because the story was interesting but also because to avoid thinking. I just had to fill my mind with someone else's story instead my own. I stopped reading just for lunch. Eating with my parents is not as easy as it seems when you're feeling the contrary of what they were feeling. They were smiling but I was just sad. I tried to smile, but anyone could tell that there wasn't a hint of sincerity or the slightest bit of joy in it. They know you're upset but they decide to wave it off and let you handle it on your own which I appreciated pretty much. I decide to hide it all away even though I knew that they suspected my woe.

Coming back into my room, checking Facebook and Twitter is now a daily or simply an every 5-minute routine. This time, rain falls and I stop reading. The one thing I avoided an hour ago was now being embraced. Tears filled my eyes to the brim and as they were about to fall, I quickly wiped them off and forced myself to suck it up because I couldn't bear to shed another tear this week. I found myself reminiscing the earlier months and thinking how I happy and exuberant I was. I relinquished all worries and nothing else could make me more ecstatic than I was. The more I thought of it, the more I wanted it, and the more I didn't want to let go of the bliss I used to have, not ever, at least not now.

I played the keys of the piano now covered in a layer of dust. The C-major chord gave a joyful sound as all major chords were to supposed to give. A D-Minor was the sound most appropriate to what I feel now. Tchaikovsky's Chant d'automne never sounded more beautiful and sad all at once. One song was all I need to know how I really felt. Tears rolled on my cheek as I felt. And it was after the song when I played that last note, when I felt numb. Numb to the core. And everything else didn't seem to matter.

I knew I was slumped in deep dejection and I believe when one is sad, no one else can feel their sorrow. Here I am, writing this irrelevant post, not for the others but for myself, to remind myself that writing out my melancholy emotion can take things off my mind. The moment I type the last word of this post, ending it with my name, I know I would be my own self once more. But I may be wrong because I've never felt so lonely in my life until now.


Toodles,
Alanna