and those dreams are just another papers stuck on the refrigerator.

i think a lot about my dreams, not only the dinosaurs are chasing me kind of dream, but the driving force that kept me going.

growing up, i don’t have a lot on my plate. there was never really a room for unrealistic options, my dreams are just 4 step ahead. good pay, and respectable. talk about “dream as high as you can” but when you’re the eldest, you’re born with leash chained onto the ground with expectations.

be brave! not too much because its daring and impolite. be smart! but not really because you’ll be threathening. i could never released my wings neither do i ever learn how to fly.

i had my mothers forgotten dream, my fathers dissapointment towards life, and my sister hope that “dreams come true”. i must soar as high as i can, but never infinity and beyond. thus why just like firework, i burn fast, relatively high, and pretty.

whats after? an imaginable void in my heart and a lingering bitter taste on my mouth.

i’ve always wanted to become a poet, whomst words act like a medicine to hopeless people. i wanted to become a dancer, shaking off worries from shoulders of the people who watched. i wanted to become an artist that fuel spirit to people’s life.

but what am i to do? the world thinks that doing something amusing to the people is an insufferable sins compared to a template office worker. stuck on their desk, waiting for death to pick them up.

and so once again i need to swallow the bitter pill and accept my reality. that some dreams stayed as it is. my life goes on, and those dreams are deep burrowed in a stack of papers on the refrigerator. lingering, but untouched.