I find myself thinking about the words of a certain song by my favorite band.
“….then I see that am nothing more than a dreamer. A superstar in my dreams am a dreamer.”
I thought of my childhood dreams of being a superstar... a rock star. I would have blue hair, an electric guitar but no tattoos or skull jewelry. I am on stage and it’s the final encore. Fireworks go off behind me, lighting up the stage making the crowd go wild as am jamming to a hit song…did I just say jamming?
Snapping back to reality, I find my reflection staring back at me as if demanding me to hurry up and get to bed already and the foam around my mouth did not help much. My mum has always said I am a messy brusher.
Rinsing my mouth I realize the only jam that I am acquainted with is the one you spread on bread.
The thought of jam triggers my stomach to rumble for the third time that day desperate to remind me of how hungry I am. A quick midnight snack should fix that. A glass of milk, two slices of bread with butter (I needed to reconcile the jam issue before using any on the bread)
Was I just a dreamer, a superstar in my dreams?
At what point was it ok not to be me and instead pursue conventional norms. So I did not want to be a lawyer, teacher or doctor. When I was asked as a child what I would like to become when I grew up my mind would wander to a rock star reverie. Then I would fumble for an answer that would seem acceptable. Eventually I would end up saying ‘an engineer’ and I was happy to see them glow with pride.
I drained the remaining glass of milk and headed to bed.
In the silence of the night the rest of the song plays in my head.
“…I wanna be a star but is that all am really here for. And if am not a star will it be ok will I still be someone.”
So who am I without my super dreams? Who will I be with no spotlight?
I am a girl living out her life the best way she knows how. Keeping her faith and though not perfect still striving to, knowing that the far I have come is but a small miracle and that there is still room for more miracles. Not afraid to go where God is taking me or to live out the life that was made for me.
The rest of the song cuts short my thoughts.
“A super star I may never be
And that is just a reality
Why can’t we be Gods Superstars?”
Why can’t I be Gods superstar? Or am I? Is the audience the people I meet every day? Could it be my friends or family or a random stranger who offers a stray greeting?
Maybe the performance is my life. How do I play it out? Will the crowd demand an encore whether solicited for one or not?
The rock star hair will represent my personality. Have I let it shine without inhibitions, both from within and from without?
I finally smile for the first time since these thoughts infiltrated my mind. I do love my life and how it panned out even if I am not an actual superstar. I am in my own small way a superstar of a bigger kind. I am Gods superstar.
I remove the hairnet and ruffle my hair as a whisper a prayer to God, ‘Lord let me be your superstar, the kind that play a guitar. Just for tonight.’
I mentally unstrapped a guitar from my back and strum a tune.
A girl is allowed to dream. Right?
