It could be said that, as a dreamer, I have my head in the clouds. I actually disagree with that statement–it’s quite limiting. No, I’m a dreamer with my head in stars, planets, and nebulae. My feet are in the clouds.
All my life, practical tasks have been a struggle for me. I avoided chores, telling my parents, “I can’t change the house when I’m too busy changing the world!” Organization is my weak point. In elementary school, when we were graded on such things, I had to fight just for a satisfactory. Leftover food was shoved in my desk. Papers were everywhere. As a high school student, I’ve improved a little bit out of dire necessity. Even so, I’m still notorious for losing things. My backpack is littered with crumpled papers and the smell of dirt. (Funny thing is, I haven’t put anything dirty in there.)
The here-and-now is a difficult place to be. I seem to live in the past and future, recalling and imagining. Creating and wishing. Sometimes I’m so caught in my thoughts that I’m not even seeing what’s around me. In the car, I’ll be looking out the window and suddenly realize where I am (thank God I’m a passenger). I’m spacey. In elementary school, I remember skipping around the playground like it was America, Ukraine, a medieval village, a fantasy land–everything! Indoor recess was even better, but when it wasn’t possible, I took my writing and drawing outside.
I’m a hopeless romantic. Everything in life is subject to my dreamy idealization. All through childhood, I fell in love often. When I fell in love, I fell hard. Around age eight or so, I chased boys around the playground. A year later, I was naming water bottles and marrying them (William Thomas Dasani–Dasani brand, obviously). During my middle school years, it was not uncommon for me to write gushy letters of professed adoration–and yes, I sent most of them. I planned the entire relationship with my future husband–from first meeting all the way to marriage. Never mind not knowing who it was. “I know everything except the man himself,” I would say. Thankfully, I’ve matured in this area. All of the love I had in those earlier years has been stored in a special place in my heart, and it shall be released selectively. My focus remains on depth rather than breadth. Still, I very much admit to fantasizing all about wedding colors, flower crowns, rings, beautiful evening walks–and yes, I still want to be married in April.
Along the same lines as romance, I’ve fallen in love with more than just people. I’ve courted blue skies, tall trees, creeks, and of course, swings. My heart was always on my sleeve. I was very affectionate towards those whom I loved. Today, though I can seem fairly calm, I’m still bursting with appreciation for my loved ones. I do everything I can to make people feel loved. Gifts, hugs, compliments, jokes exchanged–I just want to love. If I care about you, I’m probably hugging you in my mind.
I’m easily excited by things, not only for their actual value, but for the meanings they hold. In a grocery store today, I began to jump for joy in an aisle full of gummy candy. When I looked into the giant mirror on the wall (somehow a giant mirror in the grocery store) I saw everything and was touched. I began to think about our place as humans in the world. How we’re surrounded by so much, how much of a maze life is.
I march to my own drum. I desire ambiguity in school-related environments. The vaguer the instructions, the more room there is for self-expression. When I was in fourth grade, the teacher took the class out to the courtyard and asked us to bring our books. Little Abigail brought her clipboard and pencil. “But I’m reading what I’m writing!” I responded as I was sent back to class to get the proper materials. We had table groups, and I attempted to secede and form my own nation. All throughout school, we were given writing prompts, and I made everything up. Or, more frequently, I didn’t complete them. I just couldn’t write when I was asked to–the inspiration seemed to halt.
I’m extremely introspective. I’ve been keeping a daily journal for over two years, and I could probably count how many times I’ve missed an entry. When I was younger, I’d wonder about my place in the world. I had a very soft heart, and I was quite loyal to my faith. For a month, I kept a prayer journal, and asked God for anything and everything–my own aspirations, the health of my family, and certain classmates of the male gender. The devotion to faith has taken many beatings, but it’s still there. My relationship with God is very sisterly and personal. The flame of sensitivity still burns.
Yeah, maybe I’m bragging on myself a little bit. I’m just so passionate about imagination, and I’m proud of that in myself. In writing this, I want other dreamers to feel that they have someone to identify with. I know there are more. But the thing about dreamers is that most of those universes remain within us. We can be a bit elusive. Elusive is such a pretty word, isn’t it?
There I go again with a tangent.