I'm not dead.
I'm sorry I disappeared without so much as goodbye or an explanation. I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry if I worried you and I hope you can forgive me.
I don't really know how to write this, how to explain to you what is not even clear to me, but I shall try as best as I can to tell you what happened.
First I have to deny the rumors that I secretly eloped with Kermit the Frog and ran off to some exotic island.
That didn't happen.
What happened was that when you keep nurturing and nourishing your dream at one point it becomes something so big and strong that you can not stop it anymore. Which doesn't mean it becomes unstoppable. Unfortunately. Just a bit stronger than you.
My dream to become a comic author. Not that old one of marrying a pastry chef. I've given up on that one.
So I've been caring for this dream for many years now and you
, fellow deviants and friends, you fed it too. (Don't hide the hand that fed it!).
And so it happened, a year ago, that this bold fine dream came to me and said “Frog, you cared for me for many years, but now I've outgrown this little pond in which you live and I want to see the world and fulfill myself!”. Since I couldn't stop it I had no choice but to let it go...and followed it closely
. One should always follow their dreams. In case they tripped.
And off we went. My dream and I. Fueled by that kind of hopefulness that just begs to be crushed. Too foolish to ask for directions we went fumbling around, trying to orient ourselves by looking at the stars and the way the moss grew. Which is not very helpful when you are trying to find an editor, as it turned out.
So, inevitably, we got lost.
Then was the time to admit defeat. Admit that we bit off more than we could chew and take a step back. I tried to reason with my dream. “Look” said I, “It's getting dark and cold here. I'm tired and, frankly, we've no idea of where we are or where we are going. Can't we just go back to the pond? You remember our lovely pond, right? Can't we go back home now?”.
?” it sneered. “That cold, cramped puddle
? HAH! I'm never going back there!” scoffed my dream.
I stared dumbstruck.
Was that my dream? That standoffish, proud, ungrateful snob? Did I raise that thing? Could it be that all those years of love and nurturing had spoiled it beyond repair?
Horrified I turned to leave, back to my beloved pond without the monster I had created when suddenly I heard it. Low and raspy, thoroughly unpleasant.
The unmistakable sound of a dream sobbing.Ah.
There was the truth.
It wasn't arrogance that kept it away from the pond. It was shame. It wanted to return to the pond, it always meant to, but it imagined returning as a winner, as an accomplished dream, not in defeat. It wasn't haughty. It was idiotic. I never realized my dream took after me so much.
I didn't know what to do. I stood a while considering my dream. In the fading light it looked frail and pitifully small. A pale shadow of the boastful dream I remembered. How did we overestimate it!How could we have been so mistaken? With a start I realized that, weak as it was, it might not make it through that cold dark night that was upon us.
And that did it.
I couldn't leave it to fade away on its own. If it had to die I'd have to be there holding its hand, together until the end. Because, after all, what is a frog without a dream?
And so I stayed on. My dream held on to me throughout the night as I held on to the thought of my pond. And then somehow the night was over and it hadn't died. Our journey went on, or rather it began anew. The dream got back on its feet, though I must say it was never the same again. It lost its boyish charm and naiveté, but I found that I liked it better this way. It looked more traveled, more worldly, a hard working dream. A dream I could follow.
So we traveled for a long time and it has been a tough journey. An emotional roller-coaster and a lonesome pilgrimage at the same time. We never spoke of the pond, my dream and I, though I knew we both missed it horribly. But I also knew of the shame that my dream felt. We could not come back empty-handed, not after such a long journey. And the further we went from the pond, the greater the trophy we brought back had to be, and the harder it became to accept defeat.
Now indeed it's very hard to do so. When I left the pond I thought I'd be back soon with my hands full of trophies _such is the way of childish dreams_ and instead it's been more than a year now and I'm back almost
But I'm back.
Back to my pond. If the pond will have me.
...and the dream?
The dream is standing behind me as I'm writing this. It says “hi”. It's very ashamed of itself and hopes you can forgive it, promises it won't do it anymore. It has come to understand that a dream can happily live in a pond, it can wander around to fulfill itself and still be home for tea.
It took it a while to understand that.
Much like me.
This stubborn dream.
*About the "almost empty-handed".
Err...truthfully I don't know where I stand in terms of achievements. Mostly I'm waiting for replies. But at least I started asking. I've many projects, many stories I want to tell, but it is yet to be seen which (if any) will see the light. Thing is I also have many stories to tell here and if you still feel like hearing them I'll be happy to tell them.
I'm sorry it took me so long to come back. Thank you for sticking around.