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Lessons in futility

In the boudoir of my dreams,
Ideas play like melodies.
Lilting tunes that beckon and entrance
- But never set you free.

If thoughts have wings,
Desires cripple you.
Fleeting, lofty and never coming true.

Don’t live in a dreamworld. For the dreams that come true are much more than just dreams.

Che Guevara Revisited

I was just having a a hot, steaming shower and something about the Me-time got me thinking…

As I grow older I am understanding Samar Irshad Sethi better… who she is and what her dreams are. And I find that her dreams are not worth attaining.

Who was I kidding with, “I want to make these greedy multinationals good corporate citizens?”. In my heart of hearts I just want to be part of the establishment - have a comfortable job and make lots of money. If making a difference to the world means losing my comforts, the world can go to hell. Not a pretty picture? Thats who I have become.

When I was 6, all I wanted to do was draw. I used to fill pages upon pages with my dresses, my dolls, my perceptions of my favourite storybook characters. I drew Elizabeth Bennet, Jo March, Maggie Tuliver. Come 8th grade and I was coached - give up your art, it’s too time consuming and you can never make a living outa it. Concentrate on your studies.

I participated in an art competition whose topic was “My world in the year 2000″. All the other girls were copying pictures but I used my imagination. I showed a dark world with filth, flies and fecus and another dimension of the same world that was bright and beautiful, where education and healthcare was free for all, where little children had love and security and where dreams came true…My teacher accepted my painting and it was to be sent in later in the day. Shortly after as I walked the school grounds, I saw my painting lying in a trash can. I decided to disprove my teacher and worked harder than ever. I turned to pencil work and calligraphy. But my art started conflicting with my studies and under pressure I gave it up in matric.

Later at 17, all I wanted to do was write. Writing to me was like breathing, it came naturally to me I would’ve loved to have made English Literature or Journalism my career. But again I was coached, you can’t make writing your bread and butter, you need to have a stable career not just something you enjoy doing. Let writing be just a hobby.

And I came to IBA.

Now I realize that just having a good career was never my aim. I wanted to discover and polish the talents God gave me for only then I could be truly useful to the world. If every man does just what he was created to do, the world will be a much happier place.

Not to say that I am not happy at IBA but these subjects are just not ME. I wanted philosphy and art, writing and religion, not just how to maximize your profits and minimize your costs. A teacher of mine recently had the audacity to say “Bringing about change in your organization could make your employees committ suicide. This is one of the emotional disadvantages of change”. Talk about cruel.

But I am part of this blood-sucking system now. Our generation is the sort that wears Che Guevara T-shirts without knowing who he is. He just looks cool and rebellious. Our elders fully support our capitalism perhaps because they have seen that ideals yield nothing. Broken dreams, shattered promises.

But again, it doesn’t have to be that way.

Why not show the world that doing your own thing today CAN yield to a better, brighter tommorrow?

But I do not have the courage. I look at my designer hand bags all lined up and I think, can I give all this up to step into a world where the future is hazy? Where risk is certain but profits are not?

No. If my name is to pop up on the 2nd P & G list, I would be delighted. I would feel prestigious. Even if I am just selling soaps.

Maybe if the corporate world rejects me, I’ll have no choice but to do my own thing Perhaps that is what Allah has planned for me.

And the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.