I had a lot of dreams when I was young. I dreamed of becoming a lot of things. I wanted to be a Disney princess. I wanted to be a compassionate missionary. I wanted to be an adventurous wanderer. I wanted to be a brilliant writer. I wanted to be a beauty queen. I wanted to be an amazing cook. I wanted to be an inspiring ahlete. I wanted to be an eccentric scientist. I wanted to be a famous celebrity. I wanted to be an original architect. I wanted to be a genius doctor. I wanted to be a known visual artist. I wanted to be a fearless journalist. I wanted to be an awe-inspirig singer. I wanted to be a graceful dancer. I could add up to the list but you already get the drift.

When I got older I was disappointed to realize that I couldn't possibly accomplish all that in this lifetime. Later on I was hurt to find out that reality is harsher when your older especially when you realize that wanting alone is not enough. You find out that it would require hard work. Then further on you discover that wanting and hard work do not necessarily get you there.

When adulthood happens you find yourself being pulled farther away you from your dreams. You find out that even when you sometimes get to live out some of your dreams, when they happen for real they aren't as great as when you were dreamig about them. Reality has a blunt way of demystifying things.

Which brings me to the reason why I'm writing this. I've lost my rose-colored glasses a long time ago that I almost forgot what dreaming was all about. Then I rediscovered my love for writing. This time I've fallen in love much harder with it. Writing brought me full circle to the dreams of my youth because now I've realized that writing is actually just dreaming when you are wide awake.