Matilda

 Matilda is a brave young lady, against all odds she stands up tall. This isn’t how she was raised, this is just how she is.

She’s confident, she’s charming, she conducts herself well, and she knows how to balance situations out. She knows when to give it her all and when to let go. Truly, a well-rounded woman. 

But she’s not perfect. Matilda has a flaw. Matilda is a dreamer, but not the kind of dreamer that you know of. She’s not one of those who dream in the night, unconsciously reliving the conscious that’s suppressed. She’s also not a part of a long line of artists and poets who live each day a different way and discover novel ways to admire the most mundane. Although she likes to make profound seem simple and simple seem profound, she neither calls herself a poet nor an artist. But she does call herself a dreamer.

She, quite literally, dreams with her eyes wide open.

She would be crossing the road and the footpath would begin to resemble strong arms wanting to hold her. She would be looking at the traffic light and the red and green would turn into two eyes that would take turns blinking at her. She would be having her morning coffee and the smell of it would show her a vivid image of a quaint and picturesque village in South Africa where the beans were extracted from. 

Now if you’re wondering if she ever consulted a psychiatrist, the answer is NO. She never felt the need to visit one. She wasn’t hallucinating after all, she was dreaming and that never quite seemed to be a problem to her. Simply because she always knew, as if by instinct, that she was in a dream. Those dreams never dulled her clarity, never muddled her awareness, and never became a burden to her. Her dreams never interfered with her functioning, nor did they ever cause her any harm. Why would, then she treat them as a problem? Instead, she smiles, beautifully and gracefully, when she dreams. And when she dreams, she draws people in. She gives them a sense of contentment, a sense of peace and harmony, and a sense of belonging. In those moments, she represents ‘home’ to strangers, wanderers and adventurers who were never comfortable in their own skin, those who didn’t belong.

Dreams made her life more colorful. It was as if a masterful musician randomly plays a beautiful melody for her frequently or a master painter occasionally drops by to add some artistic touches to her life. Her dark black eyes can see more colors and can look far beyond. Her eyelashes, when they flutter, bring music to life. 

Now as all humans do after a certain point, Matilda takes it for granted. This isn’t what she wants to be, this is just what she is.

Personally and professionally, Matilda’s life is considerably sorted. Since she keeps her desires in control, hubris and avarice never played a major role in her life. What she wants, therefore, is also something rather immaterial, something very simple.

Matilda, wants to dream at night. Yes, Matilda, the dreamer, was never able to have a normal dream like everyone else. And she wants to experience what it’s like to dream with her eyes closed. 

Matilda, they say, is a fairy, an angel who can cure diseases with her smile. As she smiles, she gives hope to the despairing, brings virtue out of the corrupt, and purges the lost of their gloomy silence. 

However, when she closes her eyes, she furrows her brows. And only Matilda knows what she feels inside.