Friday, March 16, 2007
Note: This is the essay I wrote for O's last year. It's not that accurate. I got an A1 for English! *cheers* This one's called "Dreams".
A dream can be fairly pleasant or positively overwhelming when fulfilled, but my dream brings many other dreams that threatens to snip the taut string that holds my life and sanity together as an artist's beautiful impression of a struggle. I have only one dream now: To dream.
My dream was to be famous and idolised by the entire world. I strived to be who I wanted to be: other people. My roles as an actress never failed to challenge my ability, keeping me on my toes - on pointe, like a ballerina. But I never got to be myself on screen.
My tight schedules and selfless indulgence in my work won me the fulfilment of my dream, but made me lose myself, not only in the working sense, but also in the literal sense. I am an empty body, like a water bottle left discarded beside a parched runner.
People see me as the first character I played - beautiful, and the fair lady with dark, cat-like eyes and a personality to match. The embodiment of a dark kind of class and glamour. The person so many want to be. And it pains me to see so many following in my footsteps. Dreams can make you or destroy you.
The uneven tapping and clicking of heels on the black marble-tiled floor turned my head, then body, to face what was behind. I half-expected to know what was coming next, but curiosity very nearly scared the cat to death when I saw the reflection in the mirror.
Her face was sleekly shaped, and her fair, pale skin was flawless to the touch, it seemed. Her straight, black hair was pulled tightly into a neat bun at the back of her head. Lifting my hand up to touch my own hair, I combed my fingers through the thick, glossy curls slowly, savouring the feel of the soft velvet against my skin. And then I realised that the hair was not mine. It felt so foreign.
My gaze shot from her thin, faintly pink-hued lips to her eyes that betrayed no emotion. Oh, her eyes were so beautifully-shaped, but her sockets might just as well have been empty. The pallor of her skin seemed even more prominent now, and a mind-numbing chill slowly creeped up my back like a worm and raised the hair on my nape.
Stumbling back in shock and terror, I hit a mirrored wall behind me and swung around to face it. I screamed as I saw the psychopath I once acted as. Her mouth was open in silent laughter.
I scrambled away repeatedly, only to see more and more mirrors appear before me, telling me I was the one who added more lies to the world of sin, more pain to those who yearned for acceptance, more dreams to those who have not fulfilled any, more...
"Shut up! I said shut up!" I clamped my hands desperately over my ears to shut out nothing at all. No one spoke. All I heard were merely soundless, silent accusations that stabbed my heart and twisted in my wound.
The silence rang even more than before in my head, threatening to burst my eardrums. My head felt like it was going to explode. I was writhing about on the floor in terror, anger and annoyance. Screaming for the silence to stop whatever it was doing.
"Pathetic." A whisper brushed against my covered ear. It was my first character.
In a state of shock, I awoke with a start, my heart thumping fast. This was not the first time.
And then I cried. Broken, like a piggy bank you had for so long, but had to break on a rainy day.
A dream can be fairly pleasant or positively overwhelming when fulfilled, but my dream to be a star brought with it nightmares with monsters screaming silently at me in contempt and threatening to tear me from my sanity.
My dream was to be a star. But I do not want my fears to haunt me any longer. I do not want nightmares.
My dream is to dream.
I cried at 7:30 PM
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(2) comments
Did you hear me this time?
