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I have always been one to dream. My imagination is only limited by the time I choose to spend in my head.

I have always been a dreamer. I remember how for many years I would dream of being a doctor and working for doctors without boarders. I could already feel the lives I would change, the lives I would save. The joy felt real, even though the memories were never mine. I remember spending hours planning on how I would make this dream a reality. I studied hard in school, made sure that I had good social activities that made me more attractive to universities, I even went the extra mile of applying before hand so they reserved my place. However the world had different plans. Even though I finished top of my class, I still failed to get into medical school. One official even went as far as telling me that even if I got accepted, I wouldn’t make it because my marks were not good enough. In that moment I stopped believing the possibility that dreams could come true.

My life seems to have spiralled out of control after that moment. Everything I touched seemed to wither and die, every dream would collapse before it even left my lips. Before I knew it I became stuck, living a life that leaves me angry everyday. A life that always seems to have me contemplating the idea of death, because surely this burning building that is my life can be no better than life. So instead of dreaming about life, I began dreaming about death. Dreaming of ways to end the life that was slowly suffocating my soul and leaving my spirit gasping for air. I would pray to God to take me before I took myself, at least that way my family would live with no guilt and I would be at peace.

It’s ironic how people say “Everything happens for a reason.” As though that will magically dry your tears and create and even better future for your broken spirit. I have heard that phrase time and again, yet I sill don’t know the reason. I don’t know why I didn’t get into med school, I don’t know why I failed CTA, I don’t know why I love poetry while everyone hates my written pieces… I don’t know the reasons things have happened the way they have. All I know is that I’m tired of waiting for a reason to be found.

The life of a dreamer is dangerous, so maybe it’s best you not.

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Ros Limbo
mulemwa.limbo@gmail.com

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