You cannot escape dreams. Like a soft whisper they will hover over the horizon as you open your eyes. In that state in between dreaming and awake you can sense them there, just waiting for you. Sometimes you hear their whispers, sometimes you do your best to ignore them. You hit your alarm clock with full force. You drag your heavy limbs out of bed, still half paralyzed by sleep. You force yourself awake. But if you quiet and if you listen, your dreams are there. Right there for you to see.
Sometimes it’s not your dreams you listen to though, but rather your fears. It’s the morning chill you feel as you shiver in your bed. It’s the cold hand of fear that’s throttling you. Scaring you. Making you feel less than you are. The idea of failure haunting you in your dreams.
But other nights…other nights you dream of wonderful things. You remember a sensation of love. A soft, soft longing in your heart to go to where you belong. To the home. The home of your soul. To all that you love.
And sometimes you wake up from one such dream. Maybe you don’t remember it at first. But then, as daybreak has come and gone and you are doing something pointless, like cleaning, you remember. A smile crosses your lips. You remember. Remember the voice that spoke to you at night.
Then fear holds you tight. Tells you it was just a dream. And the face you gave the dream wasn’t even real. But the feeling…oh that feeling…
So you let it go. You long for it, but think it’s not for you. Until you sit down and you dream. And you start to write. And suddenly you covered your page with your dream. And then you realized the dream is actually real.
I’ve had a hellish week. I realized the mold in my old flat was getting out of hand – I couldn’t stand being there anymore. It seemed to come over night and cover it all – winter and something wrong with the ventilation. Then I got bitten by a flea. And if there is one thing I hate it’s insects I cannot see. So I left for an AirBnB as I could no longer relax and rather than staying at an AirBnB place whilst sorting out the fleas and the mold I plain decided to move. And I found a place.
But when I stood there last Saturday, not knowing where to go only knowing I wasn’t going to stay I felt helpless. I’ve so loved being back in here in Cape Town with the kids. I help my fabulous five with reading every day, some days tennis too, and I have the twins a few times a week staying with me. But I got a cold, followed by mumps, followed by the flu. Winter is cold indoors in Africa and I blamed myself for not coping with it well. And just as I was about to relax, sit down and write to earn money again, I had to move. I was at my wits end. But I got through it. As I usually do. Finally calmed down Friday night as the new place took shape…to wake up at 3am with a urinary tract infection. I had to stay up all night. I did some things I had to do in the middle of the night and managed to control my pain, but boy was I tired.
And as I’ve struggled with setbacks I’ve struggled with my sense of pride. My sense of calm. When I’m grounded I’m really friggin grounded, but I have so longed for financial stability and simply doing what I love in a place I love and having no place to call home is bogging me. To be calm – to wake up with enough money in my pocket even after five weeks of being sick. And to know I wake up to doing what I love and only what I love.
Of course my designer for Magique went and broke his arm, I had to make a surprise visit to the police station to pick up a kid, another kid got molested, and so on and so forth. But I’ve been happy because I have great clients for writing, I’ve got a business up and running…well in progress, I’m back with the kids and things are happening at Little Angels. So I’m very happy.
Yet this sense of failure has haunted me. It tends to when you need to work and get sick and poor instead. I was just tired man. Scared another thing would happen. But I kept turning my mind to how blessed I am. To have the kids, Little Angels, the business, Los Angeles…
Then today I woke up at 1am from my urinary tract infection and decided it was time to take the antibiotics I’d been prescribed (I was trying to avoid it) and I had this fear again. Fear that bad things would keep happening and sink me. I mean you need a home and health to be able to work. To earn the money you can earn as you have such fab clients. But I turned it around. Started seeing the blessings of living my passions.
Finally I could sleep again and woke up with a start in the morning as my girl was awakening. One tends to wake up with a start when kids are ready to get up. I rolled out of bed to start the day.
Not until lunch did I remember what I dreamt. And I smiled. I dreamt of a boy who brought me and my best friend together so long ago. A dancer. Because of whom we started to dance. We were in love. As one is when one is fourteen. One sees a dancer who also lost his mom and one thinks one has a lot in common and fall in love. So did my best friend, only she fell much harder than me.
I suggested we start to dance as we both loved a dancer. So we did. And we fell in love. With the dance. With our friendship. That boy gave me a new career path (I was planning to become a doctor) and my best friend. And we danced, we wrote a musical, we ended up in drama school in London, we went to LA to UCLA… That boy gave me my life.
I forgot him pretty soon in the sense that I was never much into him. He was a symbol. Something I longed for – kindness and someone who could understand loss and art. The next year I fell in love for real for the first time. Boy, now that hurt. My Romeo wasn’t very Romeo. He was so not Romeo.
I’ve been thinking about this project to do with the youth. A Romeo and Juliet project. Love education. Gang education. And I’ve been debating how to do it. How Magique will support Little Angels. Then, after I’d dropped off the kids I sat down to start work. Instead I wrote the first scene of a new musical based on Romeo and Juliet. And so my project was truly born.
Maybe because of a dream of a dancer whom I shared the stage with long ago. A kind dancer. A very kind dancer.
I always wanted to do musicals. I wanted to work with underprivileged kids. I wanted to move to Africa. I wanted to adopt kids. I wanted to conquer America. I wanted to do what Branson and Scorsese did. And here I am. Sure I have a granny flat. I’m broke as broke can be. But I have everything else. Just like I said I would. People said it was impossible.
Dream, just a dream.
It’s time for a musical. And curtain call.
Image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/507780926712913671/