The boy's name was Santiago...
On the top most shelf of my bookcase, just between J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye and Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice, lays the tattered remains of my first novel. The pages have turned yellow with time, the cover has faded to muddled orange and black patches but the story is still etched in my mind. It took a 177 page novel and a Spanish shepherd to teach me how to dream.
The Alchemist's plot has a sinusoidal relation with me. There are instances when the story seems like a fairy tale and there are moments when I think Paulo Coelho was indirectly writing just for me.
The story is about Santiago, an Andalusian shepherd boy who has a recurrent dream of a treasure buried near the Pyramids... From his home in Spain he journeys to the markets of Tangiers and into the Egyptian desert... He faces many adversities. From thieves to thirst-inducing deserts to unpredictable tribal wars...but is eventually paid for his grit and ordeal with the treasure...
Every word of the previous paragraph is diametrically opposite to my life yet this magical fable is all about me. My dreams are enormous and almost on the verge of being utopian. I am a self-proclaimed dreamer. Daydreams are my only companion during the occasional soporific lecture. My dreams vary from petty things like 'a perfect dinner (?)' to something as crucial as 'a perfect future (?)'.
Dreams were a part of me much before I traveled with Santiago to the Pyramids and dreams are still the nuts and bolts of my identity. The only thing that Santiago has changed is my definition of 'dream'. For me, my dreams were just a portal to an alternate world where everything was as perfect as I wanted them to be. Dreams for me were just ...dreams...fantastical and surreal!!
Santiago taught me how to dream. Weaving a dream is just the beginning. A dream is only complete when you actualize it. Dreams are not those that you see while asleep, dreams are what keep you from sleeping.
I was 12 year old when I met Santiago and my biggest dream then was of performing drama (?). My first theatrical performance started with me forgetting my line and ended with me running down the stage two minutes later. It is needless to say that dramatics was not exactly my cup of tea. Yet whenever I passed through my school's dramatics club, I would invariable end up dreaming of giving such a performance that I end up with an Oscar! (In my defense I did warn that my dreams were utopian) Realistically, I had succumbed to my stage fright and had involuntarily decided to ignore my dream.
Then Santiago came into the picture and reading about the adversities that Santiago had to face and his undeterred grit to realize his dreams forced me to put everything in perspective and then the glossophobia seemed slightly trivial to overcome.
I did eventually perform but I did not win an Oscar. I even ended up being a member of the school's Dramatics Club for four years and also helped in directing a school production.
In retrospect, my getting over the glossophobia not only catalyzed my dramatics but also eventually helped in my debating.
If it was not for Santiago I would never have gotten over my fears, I would never have joined the Dramatics Club and eventually would not have joined the Debating Club. In short if it wasn't for The Alchemist I would not have learnt how to dream...I would not have been 'me'...
...Because now he knew where his treasure was.
So how is it??? My first draft...and my first post ever...and a proper title...if you can come up with one!
Plus I feel a few glitches...where I have marked a (?)...
Is it very informal??? I just wanted it to be me!
On the top most shelf of my bookcase, just between J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye and Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice, lays the tattered remains of my first novel. The pages have turned yellow with time, the cover has faded to muddled orange and black patches but the story is still etched in my mind. It took a 177 page novel and a Spanish shepherd to teach me how to dream.
The Alchemist's plot has a sinusoidal relation with me. There are instances when the story seems like a fairy tale and there are moments when I think Paulo Coelho was indirectly writing just for me.
The story is about Santiago, an Andalusian shepherd boy who has a recurrent dream of a treasure buried near the Pyramids... From his home in Spain he journeys to the markets of Tangiers and into the Egyptian desert... He faces many adversities. From thieves to thirst-inducing deserts to unpredictable tribal wars...but is eventually paid for his grit and ordeal with the treasure...
Every word of the previous paragraph is diametrically opposite to my life yet this magical fable is all about me. My dreams are enormous and almost on the verge of being utopian. I am a self-proclaimed dreamer. Daydreams are my only companion during the occasional soporific lecture. My dreams vary from petty things like 'a perfect dinner (?)' to something as crucial as 'a perfect future (?)'.
Dreams were a part of me much before I traveled with Santiago to the Pyramids and dreams are still the nuts and bolts of my identity. The only thing that Santiago has changed is my definition of 'dream'. For me, my dreams were just a portal to an alternate world where everything was as perfect as I wanted them to be. Dreams for me were just ...dreams...fantastical and surreal!!
Santiago taught me how to dream. Weaving a dream is just the beginning. A dream is only complete when you actualize it. Dreams are not those that you see while asleep, dreams are what keep you from sleeping.
I was 12 year old when I met Santiago and my biggest dream then was of performing drama (?). My first theatrical performance started with me forgetting my line and ended with me running down the stage two minutes later. It is needless to say that dramatics was not exactly my cup of tea. Yet whenever I passed through my school's dramatics club, I would invariable end up dreaming of giving such a performance that I end up with an Oscar! (In my defense I did warn that my dreams were utopian) Realistically, I had succumbed to my stage fright and had involuntarily decided to ignore my dream.
Then Santiago came into the picture and reading about the adversities that Santiago had to face and his undeterred grit to realize his dreams forced me to put everything in perspective and then the glossophobia seemed slightly trivial to overcome.
I did eventually perform but I did not win an Oscar. I even ended up being a member of the school's Dramatics Club for four years and also helped in directing a school production.
In retrospect, my getting over the glossophobia not only catalyzed my dramatics but also eventually helped in my debating.
If it was not for Santiago I would never have gotten over my fears, I would never have joined the Dramatics Club and eventually would not have joined the Debating Club. In short if it wasn't for The Alchemist I would not have learnt how to dream...I would not have been 'me'...
...Because now he knew where his treasure was.
So how is it??? My first draft...and my first post ever...and a proper title...if you can come up with one!
Plus I feel a few glitches...where I have marked a (?)...
Is it very informal??? I just wanted it to be me!