She Buried Her Father, I Buried My Dream.

It's been a week of high drama. Two separate plots have made a deep impression in me during that single timeframe:
the passing away of my close friend's father,
and the near-achievement of a long-cherished yearning.
In the end, it is dreams which have come back to aid me in their role of comforting, and guiding us with their deeper wisdom.


Exactly a week ago, I visited Uncle Albert in University Hospital. He was Giovana's father, and she is the closest thing I have to a sister. Over a year of fighting with nose cancer had reduced this macho man to nothing more than a vessel of pain. I thought it better for Gio to be away from his heart-wrenching moans, so we went for a walk.
That was the last time I saw him alive.
Just an hour later, I sat with my own father at dinner. Wanting to make the best use of those few hours we spend together each week, I blurted out the mains of the Vienna Opera Ball - and that I wanted to go. Didn't have to wait long to know I hadn't started right. Or that maybe there was no right way to tell it, any way I tried.

I came home and sat on the proposal for two days. Yes, I sent a proposal to my own father explaining the Ball that takes place in the Vienna State Opera only once a year, making it the most prestigious Ball in the birthplace of the Viennese Waltz... doesn't get better than that.
Two years ago I learnt about this... and stored it away as one of the things to pursue when the time came. And now it has come, in the form of Reinhard Polt - my chance to be a debutante in Vienna come 3rd March 2011.

Once-in-a-lifetime; this is no exaggeration, for the Austrian Embassy is narrowing down the number of international debutantes starting 2012, and anyway after this chance I'll be too old come out of uni to dance as a debutante... the age limit is from 15 to 22.
Everything looked ripe for the picking, my dream was glistening and taking solid form in the palm of my hand; all I had to do was curl my fingers around it...

It was the hardest No in my life. Truly and honestly. How can I make you understand the crumbling of castles around your eyes that I experienced on Wednesday night?
Just like the mirror proposal, I'd put together a meticulous document under three-and-a-half hours. The next day, what I understood was that I'd been given the green light but then it turned out to be a glaring red. I got the first inkling of a misunderstanding, followed by horror seeping in and eroding the dream like acid. It was also the worst non-shouting scolding my father has given me. Of course it wasn't just about the Ball. Of course there were other things tied in to the issue; that's always been the way my family fights.
So there's one good proposal, and one sh*t - according to him. He has never sworn at me before. That's why I couldn't cry yet; I was too angry.
But I broke down after he hung up.


Next night: Thursday
Attended the memorial service of my sister's father - my first Christian one. It was decidedly cheerful - fullhouse party, anyone? - though the eulogies reminded us of our solemn reason for gathering. Was excited when Gio's turn approached; she was nervous, but I thought she could do it. Her speech was humorous in opening, unintentionally lengthy in closing, but the thing that made us all proud of her was her composure which strengthened with every line uttered.
It made me think. I'd been encouraged to still send in my debutante application that morning; just in case my father changed his mind before September. I was tempted; I still hoped. But it was there I saw what I needed to do: how could I chance further displeasure from him through disobedience if I ever wanted to speak with the same confidence my sister did? For all my financial stability, Gio has showed me the peace that comes with the secure knowledge of her father leaving for a better place. If mine were to go now, I couldn't say the same. And I want that kind of memorial service for my father. I want it for him, that his mortal suffering will not pale in comparison to his eternal damnation; I want it for myself, that I need not remain behind in regret and pain every passing day.

So, visions of white gloves up to my elbows, Swavroski tiara on cascading spirals, rose posy in my hand and waltzing all night in a stunning gown; I bury you.



And what of dreams which flit through our slumbering minds?
It was actually a dream on Thursday night that made me take a stand on the Ball conundrum. I dreamt of choosing a packet of gourmet-chicken-filled-buns for dinner with my mom. I'd put down my chocolate drink momentarily, boba pearls at the bottom.

When I woke up, I understood.
Meat represents learning from life experiences; I was to take last night's lesson at the memorial service to heart.
Chocolate, which comes under sweets, can be interpreted two ways: the one that applies to me now is the need to focus on the basics - I'll feel less inclined to wish after what I do not need.
Just like that, God has supplied me the answer I needed.


Yesterday's ballroom workshop was more tiring but also more fun! Met a few interesting ladies - again I was thought to have learnt ballet previously - and polished up our waltz, rock'n'roll, and cha cha. Highlight of yesterday was doing the Viennese Waltz with Mr. Polt. Like what I've read, it really felt like we were flying across the floor! I never thought my legs could actually think on their own - because certainly my mind wasn't keeping up with the increase in pace, it was probably gaping at my legs' independence! And then he lifted me up into the air and I descended with a swirl of my skirt. Sans ballgown, sans tiara... but still, something I've wanted to do all my life.