Claire Fan - Week 13: Drawing the Line
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| Maybe one day... |
Sometimes my dreams bend into reality.
Conversely, some memories are coated in a hazy, oneiric fog like a thin layer of dust settling over an untouched surface. The line between what’s real and what isn’t seems so nebulous, even when I’m wide awake.
In elementary school, I remember getting a baby chick as a pet. I woke up in the morning, bright-eyed and fresh-faced, excited to see the new member of my family. I could imagine it vividly: small, warm, fuzzy, yellow, soft. A tiny thing. It would chirp, hopping around in my palms as I cooed affectionately in the morning light. Morning dew would reflect the sun, the drops winking mischievously as the force of their gravity bent blades of fresh grass into gentle curves.
But when I eagerly swing open the door to my backyard, I find nothing there. My mother glances up after turning off the blender, a smoothie made from yogurt, frozen strawberries, and bananas. Her daughter isn’t a morning person. Drops of condensation form against the plastic. Winking. They know something I don’t. “What are you looking for, Claire?”
I pause. My eyes harden imperceptibly. “Don’t know,” I finally reply. Disappointment blooms in me, settling in my gut like sand on the seafloor.
That was years ago. Time passed; seasons changed. Interestingly enough, similar experiences—though none as visceral—persisted in my life. (I had a dream not so long ago where we were writing a section for POAS in class; I hadn’t brought any notes. On the same day, a major project in Architecture was due—that I wasn’t even close to finishing. Not even Pennywise could hold a candle to the horror I felt that particular morning. Fun times.)
I’ve had conversations with friends where I tell them about discussions we shared in my dream, only for them to tell me it wasn’t a dream, and that we actually did talk about subject x or topic y. In the end, I’m glad that my dreams are just that. Reality is frequently imperfect and disappointing, but I find that I’m satisfied with the waking world as is. It’s a life I (mostly) made for myself. At the very least, I can be proud of it. I like my life. So no baby chick for me, I suppose.
Hi Claire! I just want to start off by saying how much I love the vivid imagery in your blog this week and how it truly made me feel like I was experiencing the warmth of the baby chicks with you, seeing the sunlight fall onto them, and how they were glowing in your hands. It's interesting how easily we can misconceive dreams as reality, and honestly, how lifelike they can be. Although most of the time I don’t remember my dreams, and they, in one word, are not realistic in the slightest, I still find it so interesting how dreams are a makeshift of reality. I believe they are our inner thoughts and the majority of the things that continuously circulate in our brains throughout the day, but it's so intriguing how easily they get warped. I vividly remember a day in middle school when I was watching a show I absolutely loved at the time and “remembered” an episode that I was dying to watch when I got back home, yet it never existed in the first place. Reality is often disappointing, but it is nice that in a sense, there are 2 worlds for us to experience, reality and fiction.
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ReplyDeleteHello Claire, frankly, I found your blog to be incredibly relatable. I think I've been indulging in escapism before I even knew how to spell the word. I feel like I only really gained consciousness this year, and if I were to be generous, maybe slightly before then, around freshman year. Other than that, when I recall my memories of my time as a child, I feel like a ghost floating above reality, simply an observer. I go through the events in my head, images flashing like scenes from a movie, but I recall none of the emotional effects said events had; I can only recall the events themselves. Regardless of my selective amnesia, I can very, very enthusiastically relate to your dissatisfaction with reality. I remember as a child, every chance I would get, I would slip into an alternate reality, I would watch a music video, and picture myself as the female lead. I would do the same when reading a book. Frankly, I think I spend more time in imaginary scenarios than I do in my own head, accepting of my being. Is that healthy? I don't know, it seems to be working out fine at the moment, and for the past seventeen years, I've liked to view escapism as a sanctuary of sorts, almost like I have a permanent safe space in my head. It's slightly comforting, but regardless of my take on your blog, I found your writing beautifully introspective, and I frequently find myself wondering how you string your sentences together so smoothly. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteI have also had dreams as a little kid similar to the one you describe having as an elementary schooler, though admittedly never about chickens. One particular one, though, featured a little brown dachshund that lived in my mother’s closet which I secretly fed cheese to. When I woke up I rushed to my parents’ bedroom, slice of cheese in hand, to check if it was still there in the real world. It wasn’t, of course, but for the brief moment between opening my eyes and opening the closet door, I believed what my mind had told me. I guess that’s just what happens when a child has an overactive imagination.
ReplyDeleteThis imagination is a double-edged sword, though, because later on, once you mix in a healthy heaping of anxiety, the dynamic between the waking and the dreaming worlds flips on its head—in your blog, you put two situations in juxtaposition which may be similar at their core but are now opposites: when once we were saddened by reality not living up to our dreams, we are now grateful that reality does not reflect the horror of our nightmares. It’s not that we didn’t have nightmares as small children but now the horrors tend to veer towards the more realistic and more plausible, boiling down to intense anxiety about bad grades, relatively normal ways to die, or getting lost in places suddenly changing their layout without warning.
Oh well, I suppose it’s just another thing we gain when growing up. Good job on your blog!