Growing up, I was a dreamer.

I believed that I could be anything I wanted to be. I sang, drew, played piano and steel pan, wrote, and decorated. I lived to be creative but I had someone who told me that drawing was a waste of time so I stopped.

I had someone who never showed up to anyone of my musical performances so the sparks died.

I had someone who only knew of my decorating talents when it benefited them.

I had someone who said writing would get me no place in life so I burned my journals.

I burned my dreams.

That someone was my father. I tried to act like it didn’t bother me but it did. I mean how could it not. I grew up in a world where I wasn’t good enough and I stopped believing.

Now I have a child of my own.

He looks like me.

He acts like me.

He talks like me.

He begs for my attention…the same attention that I craved and yearned from my very own father.

He draws, writes stories, loves to sing.

He is the splitting image of me. I smile because of him I can find my way. I can dream again. Dream of a future for him where there is no racism. No hatred.

I dream that he will get to live the life I wasn’t allowed. I don’t want him to live a life with regrets because dreaming is a wonderful thing.

To live a life without a dream is to live a life without air.

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5 thoughts on “Dreams

  1. I hope you don’t mind me leaving my thoughts here. Your blog entries are things that I’m able to relate to really well.

    I grew up with a family that wasn’t supportive of my own desires and ambitions as well. I don’t know how many times I had to cast those broken wishes out the window, but given these sorts of experiences, it leaves a mark on individuals as they grow. They want to be the parent that differs entirely from their own. I’m not a parent, but I can understand the sentiment behind this.


      • It’s hard to find someone who can eloquently express their inner thoughts and feelings like you do. I look forward to more of your entries in the future should you create more.

        However, if you have difficulty expressing yourself via writing, I’d be happy to help by simply talking about things if that amounts to anything.


  2. My parents say drawing won’t earn you anything, but they don’t know how much I love to do it, I don’t care about money.
    If I was there, believe me I would have watched all of your performances.

    Liked by 1 person

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