Happy birthday to me!!
Exactly two years ago, when the date was 20/11/2011, Dream Pedlar was conceived in imagination.
I wrote a piece titled Hello, Dreamer's, a sort of a "Hello, here I am, hear me out" piece, which was perhaps the first time I came really close to finding my writing voice.
At the time, I only had a vague notion in my head of what I wanted Dream Pedlar to be like. Although actual work on it began only earlier this year, and it's nowhere close to the concept that formed in my head during that winter of 2011, I am still proud of how far we have come.
Although today is not a Dream Pedlar anniversary - well, it partly is, it partly isn't - I am excited it's my birthday (even after all the birthdays I've had, I love celebrating my existence!) and I am thrilled that I still love Dream Pedlar, the site, the stories, the art, the creation.
So thank you for being with me all this while, for reading me on good days and bad, through happy tales and sad.
As we light the candles, I take in a huge gulp of air, puff out my cheeks, make a wish, and blow out. And all my hopes and yearnings mingle with the flames of the candles and the air and the wind and I grow more and more certain of this - I am one with the world, and the world is one with me.
A Birthday Wish
I want to be
-the crest of the wave that crashes on the shore and sweeps away all the seashells on its way out.
-the poetry that rides on the flutter of the breeze until the muse traps it on paper.
-the music that emanates from a hollow, broken piece of wood held together by strings.
-the melody that yields a new hidden note each time you replay it on the tape.
-the quiver in the singer's voice as she lets a note linger a tad longer than you can hold your breath.
-the story you want to read over and over again until you have committed each exquisite word, each beautiful turn of phrase to memory.
-the colours that bleed from the artist's brush on to the canvas, rich and resplendent at first, but fading away with the passage of time.
-the drop of water that glides down a wet lock of hair and hangs like a teardrop at the end.
-the memory that has lodged itself so deep into the recesses of your mind you know it exists but the more you try to retrieve it, the farther out of reach it slips.
-the heartbreak that sits at the base of your throat like a lump that won't go away, no matter how many tears you shed.
-the hollow in your gut that your sorrow carves out, inch by hurting inch, as you realise your loss is irreconcilable.
-the slow, steady movement of the second hand that stretches your wait to eternity.
-the faint flicker of hope that tries to warm your lonely heart on a cold, winter day.
-your thoughts, your memories, your hopes, your fears, your desires, your dreams.
-everything that makes your heart beat, that makes the blood course through your veins faster and furiouser.
I want to be everything that makes you come alive.