How are you? Ii’m in bed, my cat next to me, and writing this n my iPad. I’ve noticed that a lot of my posts that I think of out of the blue and just immediately write seem to happen in bed, and on my iPad.
A lot of teenagers’ dreams are related to fame. They want to be famous footballers, or singers, dancers or authors – any profession really, just famous. And yet, do they really think this through? Is this something they consider properly, with the real-life positives and negatives? In most cases, I think we can safely assume that the answer is no. No, of course they haven’t, because dreams are dreams, and if overthought, they’re true impossibility becomes apparent.
I want to be famous. There’s no point lying about it; I’m just the same as the teenager over there, and the teenager over here. My reason for fame, however, isn’t necessarily the same as everyone else’s reasons. I want to be famous to spread a message, to prove a point and to share a dream – my dream. In my heart, I’m desperate to get out there and say: “I’m blind. I’m underestimated by society. But I still have dreams, and I can still achieve those dreams.”
Fame, however, scares me slightly. Sure, my name and face might be recognised by some, and my blog might get a FEW more followers [as if…], but there would still only be a very few people who actually knew me. Sure, the Internet could tell you all about me, from my social media to whatever I’m famous for, but the media only knows what you make available. You might not make information explicitly available to the media – pictures and texts are hacked and shared all the time -, but not even your text message history doesn’t tell you everything about a person. Only your true friends and family know you as a person.
Why does this scare me, though? It scares me, because I’m scared I’d get sucked into the world of not knowing me, and end up losing myself. If I don’t know myself, who does?
I wonder if fame is lonely. I guess it’s hard to connect with “normal people’ if you’re famous, because you’re a member of some exclusive clan, none of whom truly know each other. Any person who you’re seen leaving a bar or a plush restaurant with is immediately reported to be your girlfriend/boyfriend. Every move you make outside your own home is documented, and reported by those American entertainment news outlets which we all read, but never consider the feelings of the people who’s lives we read about.
I’m still in bed, still on my iPad, but the cat has now wandered off somewhere, probably in hunt of food. She is a fat cat, so it wouldn’t surprise me… Ah well, she’ll be back, because I have a warm room and a soft pillow for her to curl up on and snooze.