For years now I've dreamt of going to a Broadway musical. Just thinking about being at a musical could legit make me burst into tears. I'm tearing up right now. It's at the very tippy top of my bucket list, and it's actually doable. Which means I have to really stand my ground and say I'm definitely going to a musical when my family go to Philadelphia for my cousin's graduation. Not immediate family, aunts and uncles, so it's going to be a big ask, but whatever. I'll just say I'm going to New York for a day, you guys do whatever you've planned without me. I don't know, I think it's reasonable?
I've done my research, down to the cheapest tickets I can get for Anastasia (Digital Lottery or General Rush, both $42/RM163.61) or regular priced tickets at $69/RM268.79. How to get there with the cheapest route as well (trolley then Greyhound for around $13 total). Theater etiquette too, I can bring my camera bag (and only my camera bag) so that I can stow it under the seat. If I choose to buy a regular priced seat, I'd go with the box seats (closer to the stage = better). Plus hey, if someone wanted to go with me (idk who would be interested in Anastasia though honestly) the box seats have 2 seats, fancy. Shows are 2pm and 7pm usually so there's Greyhounds for 1pm and 5pm, both earlier because it's better to be earlier obviously. Plus with a camera and New York, I'm preeeeetty sure I can find something to do.
The next time my family talks about it, I'm going to ask them if I can do this. I'm anticipating a "no it's dangerous", but also, they're the ones asking me to go out more and do more, surely this is a good thing? Agh I can't even deal with even the slightest chance I'd be able to go.
Speaking of travel, I'm lobbying to go to the UK with my brother as well, when he's going there for uni. That one I don't know about for sure, because it's damn expensive AND, he's likely to go with my uncle who has always wanted a boys trip with my brother. He's the favourite in case the UK travel didn't tip you off. He doesn't like it either but eh, it is what it is. So I'm predicting my uncle will be all like "you should let your brother be his own person stop going everywhere he goes", but reputation be damned, this is the UK, I'm going even if it makes me look like the scumbag of the century (budget willing).
I mean, you guys might not know, I was supposed to go study abroad in the UK. Hertfordshire actually. Until my dad was diagnosed with cancer. Threw a wrench in the plans obviously. He was always apologising to me about how he can't pay for me to go to the UK anymore, bla bla bla, but I mean... I didn't really care at that time you know, my dad was dying, nothing else mattered. But hey now that that's done with, I can use it as emotional blackmail can't I? And say that I was the one who was supposed to go to the UK, not you, at the very least let me visit there for a bit, right? I'm trying, my mum hasn't said anything either way, so I'm thinking there's hope.
If I were to go, it would be end of august, and guess what? HARRY POTTER AND THE CURSED CHILD. Or maybe just the Harry Potter set tour. Either one, I'd die. Once again, did my research, Reading to London, public transport, etc. I'm hoping against hope that this all works out. I mean ugh imagine... Just the long flights alone have me all excited and giddy. I freaking looooove plane rides, people think I'm insane but yeah, it's just absolutely fantastic.
I'd love to travel. I've never done it, but I just know I'm going to love it. And I'm going to do impulsively stupid things, I'm sure of it. I do impulsive things when there's nobody around to see the consequences, and travelling is like the best place for that. Ugh I can't wait. I will combust.
The thing about excitement, obviously, is the crushing disappointment one will feel when it doesn't happen. And it probably won't. Sadly. This is a defense mechanism obviously, expect the worst and hope for the best. But for something like this... It will still sting. I can cry thinking about it. I can cry about anything though, I'm a crybaby.
Monday, April 23, 2018
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
Terrible Dreams
I often have incredibly vivid dreams that cause me to wake up and feel as though I haven't slept at all. Today I had that kind of dream. In the dream, my mother had died, and my father (already dead) came back as a ghost or something... I'm not sure, but he came back and he was weak and skinny and tired. As if being on earth is taking a lot out of him. He came back because he knew we couldn't handle it, being orphans and taking care of our mother's funeral and stuff.
I found my baby brother, Kiddo, sitting up in bed, having not slept the whole night and I asked him what's wrong and he said... Mum's gone, Dad's not really here, what are we going to do? And I said Dad is here now, let's just appreciate that. He then starts crying, saying "Daddy's here, but he's either busy with mum's funeral or resting, he doesn't play with me at all" which made me feel so sad, because towards the end, Daddy had little to no patience with Kiddo, partly because he was in pain 24/7. So I told Kiddo, let's just go to Mummy and Daddy's room, and we'll see what they're up to.
Dad was in there, laying down, I could see blood on the sheets... Obviously from his colon. But as soon as he saw Kiddo was crying, he sat up, and he said come on, slide down my legs. He used to do that all the time. We'd go to their bedroom at night and he'd play with us until we had to go to sleep, wrap us in blankets and swing us around, giving us piggy back rides or teaching us how to barrel role. But this was weak Daddy. So as Kiddo climbed up on to his lap, I put my arm under his knees to hold them up, just in case. As Kiddo slid down, he started crying again. Saying this can't last forever, he's dead, he can't stay. I said yeah, but there are times when spirits are allowed back on earth for a bit.
As I woke up, I just started bawling my eyes out. I couldn't handle it. I think I'm pretty good about accepting the death, but once in a while I remember or I'll think about how things would be so much different if Dad were still here. I'd be in the UK, I'd be staying in my penthouse, I'd be able to eat whatever I wanted, no matter the price. I'd have someone who would support everything I did, 100%, someone who would encourage me to go travel the world, someone who would be in charge of the family so I didn't have to be. This dream was a manifestation of what I always thought about: If I could've picked a surviving parent, it would've been Dad, not Mum. It's not that I want Mum dead, it's just that clearly, one is better than the other. Even before all this I'd think if they divorced, who would I stay with? And the answer would be Dad, no question.
I cried for 30mins straight, could hardly breath right. it was bad. Really bad. Maybe it's not supposed to hit me so hard, maybe I'm coping with it the wrong way, maybe I shouldn't be trying to ignore it all the time. But it's hard. And I'm still not over it, and I suspect I never will be.
I found my baby brother, Kiddo, sitting up in bed, having not slept the whole night and I asked him what's wrong and he said... Mum's gone, Dad's not really here, what are we going to do? And I said Dad is here now, let's just appreciate that. He then starts crying, saying "Daddy's here, but he's either busy with mum's funeral or resting, he doesn't play with me at all" which made me feel so sad, because towards the end, Daddy had little to no patience with Kiddo, partly because he was in pain 24/7. So I told Kiddo, let's just go to Mummy and Daddy's room, and we'll see what they're up to.
Dad was in there, laying down, I could see blood on the sheets... Obviously from his colon. But as soon as he saw Kiddo was crying, he sat up, and he said come on, slide down my legs. He used to do that all the time. We'd go to their bedroom at night and he'd play with us until we had to go to sleep, wrap us in blankets and swing us around, giving us piggy back rides or teaching us how to barrel role. But this was weak Daddy. So as Kiddo climbed up on to his lap, I put my arm under his knees to hold them up, just in case. As Kiddo slid down, he started crying again. Saying this can't last forever, he's dead, he can't stay. I said yeah, but there are times when spirits are allowed back on earth for a bit.
As I woke up, I just started bawling my eyes out. I couldn't handle it. I think I'm pretty good about accepting the death, but once in a while I remember or I'll think about how things would be so much different if Dad were still here. I'd be in the UK, I'd be staying in my penthouse, I'd be able to eat whatever I wanted, no matter the price. I'd have someone who would support everything I did, 100%, someone who would encourage me to go travel the world, someone who would be in charge of the family so I didn't have to be. This dream was a manifestation of what I always thought about: If I could've picked a surviving parent, it would've been Dad, not Mum. It's not that I want Mum dead, it's just that clearly, one is better than the other. Even before all this I'd think if they divorced, who would I stay with? And the answer would be Dad, no question.
I cried for 30mins straight, could hardly breath right. it was bad. Really bad. Maybe it's not supposed to hit me so hard, maybe I'm coping with it the wrong way, maybe I shouldn't be trying to ignore it all the time. But it's hard. And I'm still not over it, and I suspect I never will be.
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