The Grand Scheme of Things.

It’s an unexpected, surprising day off. The diminishing hours of the day feel so long, thrusting their enchanting beauty in every cleft between minutes, and terrifyingly dragging on to the noon’s gentle rays. The sun looks quite unearthly in November, when it does shine so flamboyantly, upon a night of rain and windfall.

I took a few moments to check this blog’s earliest entries, and I was rewarded with nothing but a heartbeat elevating questioningly, even curiously so. This very armchair I am sitting on has bred some of those deepest, melancholic thoughts I had phrased out five years earlier. I had nothing but dreams, which I had described as troubled and despondent, when they’d climb up the walls of my being, filling me with inscrutable awe and unshakeable fears that I’d never grow enough to realize them.

A part of me feels incredible sympathy for the girl I used to be. My heart feels so torn at how I’ve grown, it feels as if it were a miracle set into motion with every entry, with every afternoon that I’d sit down and write from the most honest and crude spaces of my heart. I used to be so attentive, seeking every crevice for answers and compasses towards where I'd live with my heart’s fullest intent. Oh, how all has compiled itself into this most grandiose scheme of things.

Rather unfortunate it is that I have less time to write as I used to before. My writing is fleeting and mostly spiritual now, which I choose to post on a separate blog to keep sacred and safe from all eyes. I choose to describe them as intimate, ethereal experiences that never cease to annihilate every atom of need and attachment. They feel alien when written on this blog so openly as if they rip apart the fabric that weaved my story into smoothness.

I’m here to simply state how daring dreaming is. I’m here to mention how glorious it is that I had spent so much time writing, pondering, peeking microscopically into every little meaning that encompassed my life. I glared at visions and fears alike, and now they have twirled into transformative pieces of artwork I fail to even describe. How galvanizing it is that those little wishful thoughts appeared to be foundations for many wondrous experiences I relive. All the love I lacked, all the pretenses, poetry and make-belief, carefully crafted into the happenings of my days, where gratitude is abundant and meaning enthralls my spirit.

Perhaps I am ready to write here again. For some time, it felt like I had grown so much that what I feel never fit into the scheme of this journey. Yet, it fits so effortlessly and incredulously. It fits in proportion to my woes and pains that clambered treacherously, disrupting my false view of things. Yet, I held on and now, perhaps now, it is time to reiterate how it had been and how human I still am, with imperfections and fears, and even more demanding dreams.

There are yet still many adages narrated onto my journey of growth towards the person I’d always wanted to be— the girl in baggy clothes, almost invisible amid everyone I love. Tears form at the corners of my eyes as I recall how it was said to me just two days ago, you’re invisible between your students, Soraya.

I’m trying to reevaluate where to go from here, now that it feels that I’ve crossed the threshold of so many dreams. Perhaps I’m not the one who really goes, rather propelled through God. Still, it feels like the best time to dig in deep within me and hear those whispers to visualise and paint the items left untouched in the far-view of my ever-evolving canvas.

It’s always been, and will always be, a life lived in terms of daylight dreams. I must say that all the things I’ve simply dreamed before have made it considerably effortless to navigate this dearest phase of growth. And so I remain the dreamer I’ve always been.