Real life is not a happy ending. In fact, there really
cannot be a single, black and white ending to real life. There’s no clear-cut
phase which you can really identify. So when this is true, and it’s obvious, by
“Elementary, my dear Watson” that all romantic products created by authors,
writers, musicians and any other dream-sellers are fiction, why do we still
produce them?
Isn’t selling a Rom-Com essentially just selling a lie?
Probably. But then again, if life’s so bleak and the future
is so grim, then is there any harm in dreaming a little?
Think about it this way: If your dreams become nightmares
with glimpses of work and traffic and bosses and screwed-up love-lives and… You
get my drift… If dreams are nightmares and reality is fuelling your nightmares,
then where do you get to take a detour and a breather?
Eat, sleep, work, rinse and repeat; this is the way our
lives function today, so where do we relax? Where do we get to slow down and
glimpse dreams as they were; a world where love and peace of mind are not
distant castles in the sky, where do we get to refuel hope and positivity?
I am a writer. I sell you pictures I paint through my words.
And you know what? I’ll sell you fiction wrapped up in rainbows and fairy-dust
because I need to do something to refurnish dreams. I’m stuck in a world where
there’s no time for love. Relationships are a waste of time and passion is too
slow for the pace at which the world is going. So I build dreams of my own. I
like to imagine a world where, just for those few moments, life isn’t waiting
with Karma around the corner to stab you with something else.
And this is why I sell you dreams.
Because I want to at least believe that I can help someone
forget about the crap life throws at them for a while. I want to further
escapism. You can call it what you want, you can say that I’m helping people
live in denial and furthering stereotypes and building a pretend world where
everything is just an illusion. But I will do it anyway.
Because there’s no point in living if there’s no hope, no
starry-eyed dreamers and no dreams. You can’t survive on a sleep peppered with
nightmares.
So I am a writer. And I will sell you happy endings.
