What is supposed to be a reason that you are alive, that you feel? I am going to leave that to your opinion. Back when I was in the hospital all I could see were strange forms and blanks, mostly blanks. Because of the silence, all I could feel was my heart beating. I was in a state of mind where nothing made sense… Until I woke up. One day, I found myself in a white room, that had little things spread all over the place. In the room there were two figures, with four extremities and a little round shape at the top. I was in a medical room, with my mother and the nurse that kept me alive for such a long time. I felt a warm feeling in my skin. The total silence, turned into consecutive of beeps. The nurse lifted me up and took me into a sequence of halls. Five minutes after, like magic, I was in a big place where the ground was grey, and the space was filled with big objects going really fast, both right and left. The ceiling was blue, with little white spots. Years later I discovered that this was the first time I was in the street. My mother and the nurse put me in one big cage, a taxi. It had a yellow surface and black interior. After the ride, I was in a gray building. We went up an upward hill (also known as stairs) and we arrived to my new home. The nurse left us there. And my mother (which I didn’t know that she was) sat in front of me. She started mumbling sounds. I lived in that house for the next three years, learning about the things that happened in that new world. I learned science, art, that I lived somewhere in the world called Washington, that I had 14 years… But for me the most important thing was that I learned to read and write. I loved those. Since they took me from hospital, I didn’t see a change in my life. All I saw and did was nothing but a dream. The real world appeared when I got to sleep and I experienced those strange forms. During my firsts days of life I couldn’t walk. My muscles were atrophied. And so during my mornings, the woman that lived with helped me grow stronger. After the three years of homeschooling, I started attending high school. That place changed me. When I first got there I had this man helping me follow the classes and so I didn’t get lost. One day when I was walking to get to physics I fell. It hurt. The man helped me get up. It was the first time that I experienced harm. It really marked me. That day went as usual; I got back home after school and at night I went back to sleep. For me going to sleep was like going back to my coma in the hospital. My dreams felt real. That night I found myself in the spot where I fell. I was alone. I tried to move but I couldn’t. I realized that I was in my school, but I couldn’t see the man to help me. I began to suffocate. This was bad, I got nervous, I couldn’t move… But suddenly I found myself next to my mother. She said:
-It’s ok, it’s only a dream.
But it wasn’t, I was trapped. But what could she do? I said:
-I fell, I need help.
Years later, by the time I read this book, I understand that the dreams are only a consequences of my thoughts. But I’m still intrigued in how difficult it is to differentiate them.