The world is your circus.

The world is your circus. You live amongst lions, wolves, trampolines, gymnasts, ballet dancers, jokers, and of course, magicians. 

And at one point of time, you will begin to dream. You will dream of something phenomenal, because that's what dreams are for. At least it will feel extraordinary to you. Maybe it will look like magic and maybe, you will believe, that this time you can make it become.
People won't believe you. People will bring science into the picture. They will say, "oh you poor thing, look at all the odds. I know you wish for magic, but is that thing real? I know you think that you will change the world. But how much can you do?" They will exclaim how convention, dear God, is one treacherous scum. It can make the world bigger, and at the same time a lot more smaller. "Why are you here?", they will ask, with that outrageously anxious face. "Nobody comes here, and everyone goes there, and yet, here you are. Be practical.  Play it safe, you idiot. It's a dangerous place, where you are and you will regret what you're doing.  Oh, I tell you! Nothing good can ever come from this."

Oh, the irony. Science and a circus.

You are brave.

And grey is your color. The other day, you saw the world in black and white, and it felt so wrong. You told yourself, science is cruel. You've been there ever since. And maybe you, almost, for the very first time got up to do your thing, to start your show and the audience told you to stop. They gave you a map. "Follow the map", they said. "Where is that everyday thing? We don't know if this will work, but We're sure as hell that will." And they will make history dance right in front of your dreamy eyes. "Wake up! Wake up!" History will scream and that trance, as they like to call it, will break. You will plummet back from magic to repulsion, from heart to mind, and from reverie, to rationale.

So you'll do what they say. You will jump and you will crawl on the same trampoline. You will fall from a wall tumble down a slippery surface and the audience loves it. You wanted to do that flip in the air and touch the top today, but they gave you science.

You follow the map. And then you did your everyday thing. They were happy. You were okay.

They were happy. You were okay.

Until you weren't.

That day, no matter what they said, you did your thing. There was a map like always and you saw it. It didn't make sense to you anymore. So you threw it  and walked away just like you wanted to. You flipped through the air touched the ceiling and maybe you fell. They told you about how they told you about this. We warned you, they said. Science, they said. Odds, they said. Oh, history, they said. But you were happy. The show was over, they talked about you for a while. And then they moved on.

You were happy.

You were the girl, who broke the line and you liked it. And in spite of what they said you became the person you wanted to.

Some of them couldn't take it, they were disappointed. What a pity to see something like this, they told themselves. She isn't one of us, they claimed. They labeled you. She is a rebel. She isn't black, she isn't white, there is something wrong with her.

But, you were, a bird. And weren't they built to fly? They didn't open the cage for you, so you broke it. 

And finally, one of those days you made it. You touched the ceiling and as you flipped, you left the world in awe. They forgot what they said and they stood up to applaud what you did. When they went home that day, you became another way to be. They told their kids, you can do it like her. Do it like she did. You were grey, and they made you one of the blacks and the whites. Again and again and again. 

If only they understood. If only they told their kids, go ahead. Be the grey. Blacks and whites are too mainstream. Keep the dreams in a porcelain jar, just like that sunlight you once thought you secured when you were 7. And don't let them fade. 

And for a long, long time in forever, it will feel like magic.

-Meha.