Saturday 31 August 2013

Will You Be Alright?

You take a jar - a random one and you stare at it. The emptiness in between the glass walls frightens you at first 'cause you see no end to it. And it's like an invisible Vortex, pulling your soul out for an out-of-body experience you never asked for.
And so, with every second that passes, you get smaller and smaller, Alice in Wonderland size and you fall. Glass forms a thick and hard bed for you to land on. And suddenly you see lights and all kinds of wonders that you were to blind to see before.
It was a small jar, wasn't it? That's what you thought. That's why you picked it up in the first place. You were intrigued by it's roundness and perfect shape, the way it would close and trap in whatever you put in there. Only that it's you inside there and there's no escape from it...
"Will you be alright?" A voice echoed through the air, making you look around you with frightened eyes. But there's nothing but warmth. And a summer day is being shown to you - the very first one when you made your first mud cake, adorning with yellow and white wild flowers that used to fill the park behind your house. A younger version of you is mesmerized by the copy of reality she made. "I'm going to be a Chef!" But the rain came and your cake melted into a dark coloured and ugly mud pool.
"Will you be alright?" A softer voice asked again as you caught the smell of ice and cold. Ice-skating was always fun, especially when you'd get to spin around without landing on your back or scratching your knees. You used to feel so safe and secure while walking on the ice. But one winter you slipped down the ice and scared as you were, you didn't go to the doctor and handled the throbbing pain in your ankle with tears and tantrums.
"Will you be alright?" This one grabbed you by the wrist, spinning you around. You in classes, you being perfect as you usually were. You were great back then, you can clearly see it in a mirrored reflection of a past you almost forgot. Yes, you were the best and always striking for more. More, more, more - more is better. And then you fell. An inexplicable feeling of falling forever, lower and lower, passing the ground level... and you were no longer the best, the envied one, the respected one. You were just... normal.
"Will you be alright?" A voice like the rustle of pages shook you yet into another mirrored experience. Your first essay. Your first story and your first challenge. You knew then, just like you know now, that it was one of the best feelings in the entire world: having something written by you, from your own head, put down on paper and admired like some sort of expensive and rare China porcelain. But school was out and you had grades to worry for, where to put that your favourite pair of jeans had a huge hole in the knee...
"Will you be alright?" This voice was sweeter than all the others, opening the door to an exited you pointing at a strange, black thing. Your first encounter with a piano. And it wasn't even one to be used, but one in a museum. "I'm going to be a great pianist!" You were delighted, enchanted by all the great composers that left behind sweet tunes, powerful tunes, melodies that were telling you stories never heard before. But then your doctor said you shouldn't force your hands too much since you have small hands and the fingers can't cover the keyboard lightly. And money were another problem... and so the piano lessons ended before you could even understand the keys on the keyboard.
"Will you be alright?"
"Will you be alright?"
"Will you be alright?"
So many voices, so many concerns, so many mirrors breaking in front of you in the jar you thought it was empty. But you couldn't have been more wrong - for it was full with the ghosts of the past you, with so many abandoned dreams that were born to stand tall and shine brightly over the world only to be forgotten in the end. 
And there you are, surrounded by the ghosts of your past self, all looking gloomy and gray, flickering lights that were burning down their last supply of energy. And that only to take a second look at the present you, the you who are so lost from your original self that you were overtaken by fear.
"Will you be alright without me by your side?"
"Will you be alright crying by yourself, without me giving a glimpse on your future self?"
"Will you really be alright without me helping you stand up in moments of fright and pain?"
"Will be alright without any hope left for tomorrow?"
And that's when you knew it. You new they weren't any kind of dreams, but your dreams, expensive dreams, dreams made of pure sunlight and ice flowers, dreams that made you smile like a fool, dreams that made you challenge the world only to prove they were wrong to label you as 'OUT OF ORDER'.
All those dreams that made you grow up beautifully, at peace with yourself even though a little shy and maybe not that out going as the rest, but that kept you safe and sound even during the darkest thunder storms.
"Will you be alright?"
A new voice. One you didn't recognize at first for it was coming from the outside the jar, from inside the invisible Vortex.
"Will you be alright after leaving my side?" It continued and you knew that it was worrying for the pale replicas of you. After all, it was the future you. "Will be alright with finding another path to me? Will you be alright with returning to my side a little later, after I finish growing up and have my own kids? Will be alright with returning then and staying by their side?"
And so they faded, died away like summer into the autumnal wind.
A jar of dreams was what you kept hidden from the world, packed under your bed without allowing them to shine brightly. A jar of broken dreams was what you were about to desert into the trash bin. A jar with so many shards of yourself, that someone could have cloned you and you would have ended up dying in a dull and horrid present.
So, keep it safe, 'cause they help your hands even when they were fading away, 'cause they felt sorry for leaving you even when they knew they were worn out and lightless to show you the right path.
Keep them close for those who have yet to hear about all their funny adventures, about the rain soon stopped and you made yet another mud cake, about the ankle that didn't hurt that much and the ice that wasn't a real enemy in the end, about the piano sound you continued to adore from afar, about how the words were your biggest pride. 
Keep it safe for the ones that are to come - your jar of broken dreams and untold stories.

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