Plop, plop, plop, there was a tapping sound on a keyboard in an apartment with inconspicuous decoration. In the study room, a young man is finishing typing on his computer. Suddenly, the tapping sounds on the keyboard stop. Thus, a big sigh can be heard throughout the place.
- Finally! seven years of hard work finished – says the young man while looking reflectively. In the middle of this trance, the young man murmurs – too much has happened...
In my adolescence I really liked movies, series and books, like many other people. Over time, I began to feel more and more attracted to stories day after day. I travelled through narratives of all kinds of genres, they excited me quite a bit, to the point of wanting them to be more than a fantasy. However, at some point I became more critical about the development of the characters, their values and principles, the occurrence of events, among other aspects of the stories. So, as much as I liked one, I found something to criticize.
Around the age of 15, I decided to write a narrative text. This is because I was dissatisfied with the stories I saw in all types of content. Then, I realized how difficult it was to do it. Not even talking about creating the plot, even getting motivated to start was already difficult for me. So, I gave up shortly after starting.
One night I had an amazing dream about a fantastic world. At that time, I was surprised because, in the dream, I had no body and could only observe. So, the next night I dreamed about that place again, but I saw different people's lives. This continued for the next few days. By that time, I quite enjoyed sleeping. What I dreamed of, despite not being complete narratives, were very fantastic stories. I observed different customs, magical things, sometimes incomprehensible, but exciting and, above all, they satisfied me too much.
Everything that begins must end. Thus, my dreams were no exception and at some point, they stopped. They didn't last long enough to be called a long time, but long enough to not be short. Therefore, I felt strange and sad when I stopped dreaming.
I felt too bored. The stories I saw in different types of content were insufficient for me. Now my only hobby was meaningless. I couldn't find anything that could awaken my attention and make me enjoy it. At that, I was completely lost as to what to do.
The excitement I had for a story left with those dreams. However, it gave me the inspiration and motivation I needed. Therefore, in a format like a cyber series, I began writing the story based on the dreams I had been experiencing and developed it from there. So, I ended up spending most of my free time writing.
I chose the cyber series because I spent a lot of time reading this type of content. I thought that since I had other obligations to fulfil, it could be a good way, since the time was flexible and required me to continue the story on a regular basis. This to avoid giving up again when writing a story.
At first, I didn't have many readers, but I enjoyed seeing the results of what I wrote. It was the first time that he did something that was not because it was imposed on me, but on his own initiative. Somehow, she made me feel older. It's a pretty nice feeling. Therefore, I was able to continue writing the story, even if my dreams only served as a starting point.
Not long after, the story gained some recognition and was receiving quite a few favourable comments. For me, that was gratifying and encouraged me a lot. As I continued writing, I had moments of difficulty knowing how to continue. When I entered college, I thought about stopping writing because it was exhausting. However, upon seeing readers' comments, I decided to continue. Despite everything, I managed to finish the story that I thought would satisfy the love I had for narratives.
Right now, I don't feel as satisfied as I should. It's true that I'm not the most talented writer, I don't even know if I have talent. However, I believed that at least the story I wrote would satisfy me. Contrary to expectations, I feel empty and a little disappointed. This is because I realized something important.
I get up from the desk and go out to the balcony. Right now, I can see the city lights, on the other hand, it is those lights that blind my view of the sky and barely allow me to see few celestial bodies.
I was once in the countryside on vacation, the night sky there was a complete marvel. Also, I have heard that, in areas with a seacoast, the night stars shine amazingly. I'd like to see that sometime.
As I look at the sky, I think I see a shooting star. I feel very surprised, since they show them so many times in the movies, but I had never really seen one. So, I decided to make a wish.
I would like the world of the story that I wrote the last seven years to come to life, I want that world to exist because that important thing that I always longed for and the narratives could not achieve was to turn the story into a reality, that there was no hand that would guide the world.
The fact that I enjoyed my dreams, strange as it may seem, was that sense of reality, where things were not guided by the hand of the creator of the story and remained in the imagination. They could make movies, series, books, but they would still seem unreal to me. It's like thinking about the movie you like the most or the best food you can imagine and comparing that imagination with what really exists. Since what exists is real, it turns out to be better, you know, you can't eat a thought. Therefore, there was always something missing to be better both in the stories I read and the ones I wrote.
I understand the stories are not real. However, in my heart, I still have that longing for the reality that is not possible, to experience that different world. That's why, even though it's not real, somewhere in my heart, I feel disappointed with what I wrote.
Reality is unpredictable, but with my own hands, I damaged the world of my dreams. I transformed that reality into an imagination guided by my hands, by writing on a computer the story that I considered I wanted. Now I realize that I made a mistake, and I am very hurt.
A light tear falls down the cheek of my face. I didn't know that a hobby when I was young could become something so important. I thought I was mature enough, but I still dream about children's things.
-How can I, at twenty-two years old, want a fictional story to be real?
The disappointment of which I can barely be aware of its cause explodes as a heartbreaking feeling because it has been accumulated for so long. I know it may seem ridiculous, but the value of what is important to each person is subjective. Furthermore, it depends on the perspective you give to each thing, what you will be able to see about it and, consequently, how valuable it will be. So, looking at it from my perspective, it turns out that it was a big part of me whose importance I can barely recognize.
I was wrong because of my lack of understanding about myself. I didn't know what I wanted and now I realize it. That's why, when I see that shooting star, I look for a consolation to release and alleviate this pain I feel.
My thoughts flow in an instant. Then, without hesitation I say out loud - I wish the world of my story was real beyond the script I prepared since I stopped telling the little that I dreamed and stole the reality of the story! - Thus, I wished on the shooting star that the world that I had experienced in dreams, about which I wrote and made a story, was real.
The sky is once again darkened by the city lights, while the shooting star has faded. Somehow, I feel comforted. So, I head to my room and lie down to sleep. Maybe because of mental fatigue or because it's too late, I fall asleep as soon as I put my head on the pillow with only the feeling that it is very comfortable.
- Uaaaaah! - with a big yawn I sit in bed, while I wake up and observe my surroundings in a state that soon goes from drowsy to completely alert - What is happening?!
What I see is a completely dark environment and what I thought was my bed is part of the profound absence of light. Suddenly, I see a small sparkle that quickly grows until it completely envelops me. Finally, I lose all sense of consciousness.