I thought it is never good enough to just write about anything. I mean anything under the sun. I believe one should write about something grand. Something fab and trendy. I thought writers are noticed and given breaks because they write about cinder beginnings and happy-ever-after endings. Blame Cinderella for my twisted way of thinking.
I blame every happy-ever-after endings of television series, novels, comics and every fiction made in history. It conditions my mind to believe that everything is going to fall perfectly in place after several ups and downs. That every teardrops are worth shedding in hope for the magical smiles to come. Yes, magical.
I fail to see that believing in magic is an unconscious effort to be lazy, to be a failure. Most damsels in distress with fairy godmothers and magic wands who only have to get timid and perfectly prim in front of their prince’s, lo’ and behold, they earn the castle and the crown that every girl’s been dreaming of not to forget the prince.
I have been dreaming that I am a princess swept off by my feet not by my prince but my dreams. Like Cinderella who only get to leave a shoe before running for her life, I thought that my daydreams will become a reality in an instant because of my strong will to dream or so I thought.
I am almost 25 now, while some of my dreams are coming to reality there is a big part of me down there that wasn’t filled. It was shallow then and until now. Sometimes, I figure it like a deep, deep well overflowing with words. Words that I cannot seem to organize, like thoughts that I cannot afford to say or even write. And yes,they are haunting me. I think they believe that they have to be set free.
“Happily ever after is so once upon a time”, I stumble upon this in the internet and it got me nodding, saying “Yeah, it is that old.”