Recently, I started to write stories. Fiction stories, where there can be sometimes a line saying “inspired from true events”. I don’t know yet why I wanted this, and if these will be indeed stories. I just felt I can express more of my feelings in writing. I said I can try. Expressing feelings is not easy, especially something that’s coming from deep inside you.
But, eventually I admitted these thoughts were tormenting me and maybe they deserved to be said. Somehow, somewhere. You see, lately some of those fears of mine – where my balance was going all the ways, but not the mean line – were somehow happening. Like most of my epic moments, the climax happened suddenly without knowing what actually was happening to me. Fraction of seconds, I was not realizing that the anigh happened. He was responsible for that. Later on, a terrible funny thought crossed my mind, and only then – who knows how much longer after – I acknowledge the trigger.
I crossed out life almost swearing this would not happen to me. But somehow seems it happened. I couldn’t understand why. It was really some weakness of mine, or it was just a defense against my whole body, which was thinking constantly, if my biggest dream will become true? This struggle I was living to accomplish the dream of becoming a professional photographer was eating up my energy, positiveness, happiness and courage. Somewhere inside me I knew I had to stop to thinking up to this, otherwise I will be exhausted at half way down, even before finding out the actual results: have I been accepted or not?
But it was like I didn’t had time for this. At work some disgustedly snobbish character was fighting the invisible dark cavaliers, where the right was wrong and where wrong was extraordinary. Tired of fighting back to something that was corrupted from heart to toe, I had to search exile in something. Yes, I wanted an exile! An escape from all this craziness, or an opportunity to get somewhere where I could breath calmly and where I didn’t had to fight absurdity. Somewhere where I could make dreams came true, somewhere where life didn’t meant so much misery.
I didn’t knew where to search this exile, or what this exile meant. I even don’t know if I actually searched something. Only then, I realized that the trigger went off and that I was on the way to escape something. Oh my, how good it felt. It was like I gave freedom to something in me, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.
That trigger was searching deep for something I didn’t most probably wanted, to know it exists. I remembered that luscious tempting event, other few times after, some more times maybe also – and at this point now, it’s already an memory, foggily traced in my mind – like it happened centuries ago. And I don’t know, believe me, I don’t know, how I ended up thinking at some scenario where I could have complete control or where I was surprised by the charm of the possibility happening. I didn’t wanted to move a finger to make that happen, yes ideas, thoughts and dreams they all are speaking about the moment when they will actually happen. I liked the adventure of the surprise and the lack of control I could have in such opportunity, of that possibility coming true.
I consumed my whole energy in these scenarios – soon they were a few, the best that could apply to this specific case – and I knew that this was not only making me not think up anymore to my big leap planned adventurous and precarious, but also was making me breath guiltily and passionately for a while.