Dreamer, prisons, wedding

On the 25th of this first month, my long-lost cousin (jokes) is getting married to the love of thine life. Romantic? Getting-married-overseas romantic!

In an effort to appease my vanity for my first gig as a bridesmaid, I have taken advantage of online shopping and the promotional discounts that flood and junk our inboxes for my said gig dress. However, I am still in need of a pair of tropical fresh bathers that will not attract any unwanted sea creatures; scratch-less sunglasses, and an additional two pairs of shorts that will or will not see the dark and tumble of a laundry machine for ten days.

Thinking ahead, it’s a full two weeks of prepping. Emotionally, I’ve been ready since the day the groomsman announced his intentions; physically, I’m seven years behind. Materially, there is room (and parents) to fill out the zero’s. To divide and conquer, I will wear a silicon mask of Emma Watson’s face so I wouldn’t have to worry about things like my face, and I’ve got a full bottle of bug spray for any unwanted blood-suckers. Bye Edward.

I look forward to this headlining celebration since it straddles the line of my ancestral past and my emblazoned present: where I will be in my family line after the wedding, and where I will be afterwards also. It got me thinking:

In a year, I could have travelled to New Zealand, attended a movie premiere in space with a Danish, an American, and a Dutch-Romanian, and bought myself a genuine silver-gold ring just cause. In five, I could be living la dolce vita writing scripts and immersing myself in creative waters that range from ice-cold to Mad Max: Fury Road. In ten, I probably have a book or something and my parents are living on an island somewhere because I think, that’s what they want?

Foregrounded by Antonin Dvorak’s Symphony no. 8 in G-major, it all sounds fanciful, bordering idealistic, to a fevered impossibility. But why doubt such visions? Why implicate yourself in a prison made entirely by your own squandering, defeatist prison?

Have you ever felt like you’re confined in a space of dreams and envisioning a future so far from what your closest peers, and in some cases, family, are currently living in? A good year ago, I was sleeping on an inflatable bed in the living room of my Texan aunt. My family were all here living simply and unvaried whilst I was thinking about what new adventures await me in the winter-not-winter South West. Will I be surprised by their heavy accents? Will I finally visit their version of Costco and compare and contrast like a science graphic?

Are you like me, hoping to return to a limitless life? Or are you settled and content where you are now? Perhaps grow a family, have what you want where you are and leave it at best?

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