"A dream doesn't become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work."
Colin Powell
Aurora Pierce.
I've always hated crowds. Loathed them. Something about bumping into a hundred different people countless times makes my stomach churn in a very unpleasant way.
However, that is exactly what I have to go through ever single day when I exit the train and join the great mass of people walking in a literal straight line. Reminds me of a bunch of soldiers from different countries marching together.
New faces everyday. Yeah, there are still the same homeless people that smile at you everyday, hoping you would fish out a penny and lay it in their hand. Other than them, no one is ever the same. All of us, unknown to each other, trying to blend in and become invisible. It isn't hard, you just have to smile wide and walk. Walk. Then walk some more. Till you reach the place where you finally become who you are and all those fake smiles are lost somewhere in the frenzy of the fast world.
I dream to conquer crowds. To walk among them being someone, not no one. Life, however, Is completely against me when it comes to 'making dreams true'.
Ever since I was young, I dreamt big. I dreamt loud. I could never get anyone to hear them though. They just stayed in my head, getting louder and louder. Till they would not make sense anymore, and blur out into a series of nonsensical fantasies.
When you're born in a poor family, who are barely hanging of a thread, you ought to dream big and do small.
I was born a year after my second sibling. I apparently had the wrong timing because my parents claimed that they were barely making ends meet when my load was dumped on them. Loving, I know.
When I was seven, I brought my first prize home. I had won 'the best writer' competition amongst forty children. When my teacher called my parents to praise my skill, they told her that they had worked incredibly hard on me for this contest. If you call shoving dishes in my face and asking me to wash them practice for a contest about writing, then yeah, they worked hard on me.
By twelve they got so tired of my big words, they dropped me off to an orphanage in the middle of the night and never came back for me. Nor did I ever go looking for them.
Now exactly twenty two years later, I'm fresh out of university. Still in touch with my foster parents and finally trying to make my big dreams come to reality.
I came to Newyork without money and on scholarship. Working literally ten hours day got me a decent place to stay and now I'm here, finally ready to begin my life without any interruption.
But fate never works the way you want it to, does it?