Random Rambling

There is a lump somewhere in my body that right now I just cannot get rid of. I think when you admire someone so much and once you get to the point where you root for them, and they ended up losing, you just cannot believe your eyes or what you see. Like, you thought it’s all just… in your head.

 

Would I say that his defeat was inevitable? No. He had points and chances where he could’ve won 3 sets to 1. Specially in the 3rd set. How many break points did he have? How many he converted? And in the end he looked like he fell apart. Almost no confidence at all, errors everywhere, face looking down.

 

I’m disappointed, that, after 4 hours of fabulous tennis by both players, I still cannot respect the winner. I do believe that it’s only because of his haircut, and I know full well that people will smack me in the head because I know what he did was beyond fantastic and that he had so many good points and he fights for it like nobody else. And he’s a nice guy. And just because of his haircut I don’t give him enough credit that he deserves. Can I change that? No. I don’t think so. Not as long as he still has that hairdo, no.

It’s a silly and stupid and pathetic reason, I know, but… yeah.

 

Now no matter how many words and sentences I write, it’s not going to change anything. But I still cannot accept the reality that things are different than what I pictured it would be.

 

If there’s one thing that sports, any sports, has that some other aspects in life may not, it’s passion.

Don’t Wake Up

There’s something strange about having a dream that is so vivid and so real. It’s planted in your head and once you woke up, it’s like you just made a huge jump from that other world towards reality.

 

When the dream is creepy and scary and leaves you wanting to scream of help most of the time, or when it makes your legs are about to fall off from running (and this, I believe, usually happens whenever I’m having a migraine), then the jump couldn’t be more of a lifesaver, you feel. It’s like, “Oh Thank GOD that was just a dream.”

 

But when the dream is nice and fluffy and it has something to do with your own desire, it’s like being in a movie and you’re the lead role. For me, the first thing that screamed in my head when I wake up is, “Damn it!”

Because it was just a dream and I want it to be real. And when I woke up, it’s a sudden jolt of… reality check? I don’t know.

 

I just had one of those nice dreams, and when I have nice dreams, it’s stuck in my head. Sometimes just in the matter of hours, but sometimes it can take me up to a week to feel like myself again (these dreams I would usually remember forever).

 

There’s something about being a romantic that suits me best, and the dream was just about that. It involves some actors and actresses (won’t mention names). One my father, one my mother, one for myself, and the other one for the woman. And the story started of in my grandma’s kitchen and me cooking and somehow it blitzed to another location and the thing I remember is a particular scene where my dad and the woman (who’s having an affair I think. But I like her also) dresses like Cinderella and the prince. My mother doesn’t know that they’re “an item” and we were all invited to a party of some kind.

Long story short, my dad proposes to this woman, and I saw my mom peeking through the window, and all of a sudden this woman turned to me and said, “Ollie (apparently that’s my name)… Marry me?”
My dad seemed unsurprised, because of some twisted story the dream has, he knows I love her, too.

I stood up, took her hand and said, “If it were in any other condition, in any other way, in a second I would’ve said yes. I love you and I do want to marry you. But I know, that you don’t love me the same way you love him. So, no. I don’t want to marry you because you think it’s the best solution. I want to marry you if you love me, like you love him. And you don’t. So I have to let you go.”

Cut back to years later, I was a paper boy and I delivered the morning paper to her house and she greeted me. She was married (to a different man. Not my father) and she wanted to go away with me. I witnessed it myself that her husband was abusive (he almost hit her but I put a stop to it), and she ended up running away with me.

Then there was some chasing by her husband’s men and la la la, and our house was on the verge of being bombed, and that’s when my eyes jolted open.

 

What I remember most was the look of her face, because I know that actress well; it was a very familiar face. It took me very much by surprise because I wouldn’t say that I have a big fandom of her. She is beautiful, and I like her work very much. But to have a dream (much more that kind of dream) was something that surprises me the most. And to say those lines! Holy hell! Since when do I support affairs?

 

I think the beauty of dreams is that you get to be… whoever. A hero. A loser. A lover. A poet. Someone who’s chased by ghost. Someone who supports affairs. Someone who much less understands the meaning of being selfless. Not all of the things I described are pretty and beautiful, but the point is that you get to be someone else. Different than the real you but more or less has the same aspiration and the same way of thinking. Maybe in a dream you get to be more sloppy or have more expression towards your opinion. Maybe in your dream you get to save the world by running around the street with a crate of beer. Maybe you get to be a freaky little girl and scream almost all the time because your bathroom is surrounded by snakes. Maybe you wake up sweating because God knows you’re afraid of frogs and lizards and in your dream, you see just those two animals.

 

In a way… In a really weird way, I think dreams are your form of escape. From the reality of this world-what you don’t have, what you don’t want, what you don’t get a chance to do-into a world who’s very core of existence you create.