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Thursday, September 18, 2008
8:25 AM
I was born not to live the dream, but to create the dream.
I was born for revolution, for change, for difference, for seeing things in a different light.
I was born to spread the message.
I was born to tell you what I was born for, and that you too were born for something.
Why do people cry over small things? Say their lives suck? Say nobody understands their misery? Say they are heartbroken and crushed?
Because they're people who see like others do.
Without their own opinions, their own thoughts.
And if I tell them I feel the same, but slightly different in the sense that I don't complain, I don't cry amiably and babble miserably about my condition? Different in the way that I see my problems as a blessing, a story I can tell my friends, my family, people, one day? Perhaps a story that's silver-screen worthy? Something as a lesson, as a bright shining difference in the sea of people that look exactly the same, speak exactly the same, think exactly the same, cry exactly the same, laugh exactly the same?
I have definitely seen better days. Seen better moments. People get so upset when a certain festival is ruined. But I tell you ALL my festivals are ruined, and I don't mind. Someone is always missing. Something is always happening.
I can sit here and think about what I am going to draw, to paint next. I see black mist and red rain, a yellow river and a small hut, where three people reside inside, eating a cake. The trees are all blowing in different directions, and there are no flowers. But through the black mist that is the sky there is an opening in heaven. It is telling me there's still hope. That we can live on in our imperfect little lives, that we can still smile. No matter how little love I receive, I know there's a whole lot of it up there somewhere.
Because of what I am, who I am, is that what makes me see things differently? Today I saw a fire truck drive by. And I felt sad, felt like crying. Was it my home? A friend's home? Someone I know? I followed the truck. On foot.
And I smiled when I saw all it did was go back to Headquarters.
I wonder, does HE see things differently? Or is he just like everyone else? Does he spend time at home, in his room, closing his eyes to think? To think about the pain, the suffering that the world is going through? The war, the poverty, the slavery, people killing their own kind, someone out there screaming for help as their house burns into ashes?
Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. Does he care?
Am I the only person who can sit here and close my eyes and cry for the world? People only cry for themselves, lick their wounds. I'm trapped here. Some of them are my friends. So what do I tell them? "Don't cry coz other poeple's lives suck worse? You're counted lucky?"
I could never.
So I sit and listen and comfort. But inside I am jealous. They have it so easy.
I feel like cutting my fingers off right now and stop typing. STOP TYPING. But what can I do. No part of my body listens to me.
I didn't write this here for anyone to judge me, or question me. Look at this as a blog. Not Dorothy's blog.
When everything's meant to be broken, I just want you to know who I am. I don't want the world to see me, because I don't think that they'd understand.
They'd probably think I was lying or seeking attention. That hurts when they tell it to your face. "You're such a liar, attention seeker."
See things differently, once in a while. It's a great change. Say things differently, you can feel the revolution.
