Only Hope?

There's a line from the song "Only Hope" by Mandy Moore from the movie "A Walk to Remember" that goes, "When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again."

I'm sure there are many reasons people may feel compelled to believe in God, or to have faith in a Higher Being. Faith is a magical thing, truly, because without it, most of us turn into bitter, stoic human beings with no sense of duty towards self and even less duty towards others. Losing faith is an even more dangerous thing; we turn into cynical human beings with no real purpose except to torture others with our dry sense of humour at the expense of everyone else.

I, too, want to believe in God. Many times when I feel extreme hurt and bitter disappointment, I find myself staring into the empty skies at night, and wondering who, if anyone, was watching over us. My sense of hopelessness often reflects the feelings of emptiness as I whisper silent words of hope, and to receive nothing from the other end. Some people call this praying, and yet, even prayer itself manifests itself in many forms. But whether we do it kneeled beside our beds, or on carpets, or with our heads bowed down, aren't we all praying to one same being, this being we call God, to whom we entrust our lives to, hoping for salvation?

If there was one word I could use to describe what I truly wish for, and what I would often pray for, in my very own way, the word would be "happiness". I've been asked many times: "What do you want in life?" "What are you aiming for?" "What do you strive for?" "What are you looking for?"

Simple. The answer is simply "happiness". That was, of course, the easy part. The difficult part is in answering the how's.

In my final year in university studying my first Bachelor degree, I came to the realisation that it was difficult to ignore your true calling, and that your dreams will always find a way to haunt you even when you least expect them to. In my effort to comprehend, and to digest my understanding of my dreams in a better manner, I decided to write them all down. Writing. Dancing. Singing. Performing. Acting. Making people laugh. Making people happy. Helping people. Becoming a lawyer. Speaking in public. Becoming a counselor.

What appeared to be a long list was turned into a simple masterpiece. There were three major dreams in my life, each with a special significance or meaning, and each with equal importance. I couldn't possibly choose one over the other. And although they were personal to me before, nowadays I eagerly share these dreams with others, perhaps hoping that it would serve as a reminder to myself that I am not letting them go just yet, and that there is still hope. And hope, the "maybe one day" hope, is what keeps me going on each day.

My first dream was something I realised to be my calling since birth. Often a misunderstood child, I was fond of being friends with those who appeared to be outcasts, or those who struggled with many issues in life. Somehow, I loved to listen. I somehow understood them; their pain, sorrow, underachievements, sadness, disappointment. So I decided I wanted to help others, and I wanted to make others happy, to right their wrongs. I was 11 when I decided I wanted to be a counselor. As I grew older and made it into the debating team (by chance), I realised I had a knack for public speaking and acquired some oratory skills, and as a result, at the age of 16 with the advice of my debate coach, I decided that I wanted to be a lawyer, to fight for the rights and justice of others. In this dream lies many other "satelite dreams", like one of wanting to serve organisations such as Amnesty International.

But of course, to reach this dream seemed a billion years away. I obtained a CGPA of 3.83 out of 4 in STPM but was refused entry to the UM law school. Instead, 4 years after STPM and 1 year after graduating from UM, I enrolled myself in a private college to read law and am currently in my 1st year. A painful journey, but nonetheless interesting.

My second dream involves writing. I remember how much I enjoyed writing since young, and the silly foolish stories I used to write about. I often contributed to the school magazine, and enjoyed "karangan" or essay-writing immensely. About 7 months ago, I was thrown with a predicament of writing for a publication that did not reflect my personal goals. With the advice of many who said, "You have to start somewhere", I decided to take the job, and ended up being bitter about my writing skills when told by my boss that I couldn't write. I was dejected, and even worse, I died. A part of me died that day, and it took me a lot to reconnect with that part again; for it to be resurrected. I almost heard the signal going *beep* for the longest time before I heard a slight static of myself going back to life again. But I continued writing on my blog (the old blog then) and received many comments and SMSes from many others who said that I should continue writing, that they enjoyed what I wrote.

I have yet to give up, and I believe I will not. I love writing, and I hope to be able to contribute to various publications, and to one day publish a book.

My third dream, alas, is even further away from me than I expected it to be. This was the dream I was basically "born" with, because from the very beginning, even as a timid child, when I was put on stage, I changed. I shone. There is great appeal in being a performer because I want so much to invoke emotions in others. Even being a clown or a stand-up comedian would be wonderful, because if I could make people laugh and forget their sorrows, I could forget my own. Deep, deep beneath this calm exterior of mine, lies a broken soul that will never be healed. I add up the days of sorrow in my life and turn them into entertainment for others. I love making people laugh, because I find redemption for my own sorrow in return.

I remember reading a comic book series when I was much younger called "Topeng Kaca" (Glass Mask). This series was a product of a Japanese artist and translated into the Indonesian language, and my cousin and I eagerly devoured them day after day as a source of entertainment. One of the reasons why I loved this comic book so much was because it told the story of a teenaged girl, Maya, an ordinary looking girl with no special characters or features. An orphan, she has no proper education nor a home. But her one and only talent - acting - brought her to places she never knew existed. And when she was on stage, she could, and had to, ignore her own pains and to truly be the character she is playing. I wanted so badly to be like Maya. But in the real world, I also realised that someone like Maya may never make it. A cruel world this is, and I realised that I did not possess the looks, body, or height or the many other features that many girls do. And to make it worse, I have no real talent. Nothing. Zilch.

I, too, wanted to dance. Enrolled myself in a ballet class at 11, I stopped at 14 when my knees started hurting. Until today, my greatest regret: stopping dancing and giving up on my dream too early in life. I thought of such things too; that I was too short, too stubby, too fat, too ugly to be a ballerina. I thought I had no talent, even when I passed my exams with High Distinction. Nothing was ever good enough for me.

Last week's audition has just proven me right. When I realised I made too many mistakes, I gave up. When I noticed we were all singing the wrong keys, I became frustrated and stopped singing altogether. When I noticed I couldn't stop turning to the left when everyone else was turning to the right, I became frustrated and stopped dancing altogether. In my mind I could only think of one thing, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was, in fact, holding back frustrated tears throughout the entire thing.

Right after it ended, I walked away. I could hear some of them shouting, "Sharon, where are you going?" but I continued walking down the stairs. I cried. I knew I wasn't going to get through but that wasn't the point. The point was that I made a great mistake - a blunder - and I couldn't face it myself. I couldn't face myself. I knew that even if I had gotten through, I will still continue blaming myself, and right now that I didn't get through, I still do.

It hurts to wake up every morning, and in the moments of rubbing my feet and my bruised knees against the comforter in the cool morning air and staring at the ceiling, to constantly ask myself, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Perhaps I have come to the saddest realisation that I will never be happy. I've struggled to find reasons for happiness, but every time I did, I was crushed. I had my share this time around; it lasted a week. ONE WEEK. And then to have my hopes and dreams crushed all over again, that was it for me.

What crushed me this time is actually the matter of time that I am fighting so much against. Not only am I 24 (and a loser with no achievements for that matter), I am pursuing a 2nd degree that will take me another 4 years, and by the time I graduate I will be 28 and only starting out when everyone else has perhaps established a place for themselves in society. And in all honesty, what crushed me about the auditions is that I know I could do so much better, but I didn't. I used to be very good in hearing (I did so well in organ exams), but what happened? I couldn't even judge the notes anymore. I realise that the more I wanted something, the more I would fuck up, and the more it will get away from me. Law of attraction, someone said? What rubbish!

September next year I'll be off to the UK. I have slightly more than a year to do something about my dream of performing. If nothing happens till then, I'm afraid I will have to give up, and see a part of me die. Whether I will survive this death, I'm unsure. Because to have different parts of you die more than once is essentially suicide.

Maybe not physically. But definitely emotionally.