Living in a Fairytail

Time to become a hero, in a world full of cynics.

Recently, I took inventory of my dreams and was frustrated that my dreams no longer scared me. There is no point sharing with you how I plan to have a 9 figure net worth in 5 years, and how I consider that dream to be underwhelming. However, as I attempted to come up with an even more ridiculous number, it hit me. I only want dreams that trigger the fire, fear, awe, and dread required from a hero. It seems that the only thing I am allergic to is dreaming small. When it comes to my life, the story is simple: I will have a lasting legacy and bring something new and original into the world. People will know my name, and I will leave this earth with no unfulfilled dreams.

In the midst of realities of grandeur, my dad has cancer and very soon I will have to go home to visit him. I also have to get my sister home as well because I don't know how many Christmases we have left with him. Being home is not easy. I would genuinely prefer not to go. However, when confronted with death, I have to submit. The story of my family is simple: my dad is sick and there is nothing that we can do about it. When this story ends, I do not know how I am meant to continue without my father being here.

We’re all masters of storytelling, though, aren’t we? Everything around us is a story — from Coca-Cola ads plastered with Santa to the idea of human rights. Santa makes us feel better about chugging sugar sludge, and human rights delude us into thinking that all people are equal. In my spare time, I watch content by black-pilled incels, not because I agree with everything that is being said, but because I deeply appreciate the raw honesty. They accept the brutal, and often true, reality that a lot of us normies are unwilling to confront.