When Dreams are Calling
Read When Dreams are Calling Online
Authors: Carol Vorvain
WHEN
DREAMS
are
CALLING
CAROL
VORVAIN
Published by
Carol Vorvain in 2014
Copyright © Carol
Vorvain 2014
All rights
reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced
or transmitted, in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical,
including
photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval
system
without written prior permission from the author. The
Australian
Copyright
Act
(1968)
allows a maximum of one
chapter or 10 percent of this
book, whichever is greater, to be photocopied by any educational
institution
for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution
has
given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited under The
Australian
Copyright Act
(1968).
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
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No
fear, No courage
No
dreams, No life
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE: Words have power, Dreams
have power, We have
power
4 A
Career: Between Passion and Chore
5
Depression: An opportunity or a Curse
6
Family is Forever: Hazard or Blessing
PART TWO: Canada, Learning the
Art of Living
8
There is No Other Trip Like the One We Embark on Finding Ourselves
9
Before Jobs, There are Choices
10
Education Should Not Be Denied to the Ones Who Want to Learn
11 A
Chinese Roommate, the Philosophy of
a Nation
12
Night Watch at a Hotel, Loulou - the Wild Chicken and Lingerie’s
Mysteries
14
When Kindness Does the Trick
15 A
Few Genuine Advantages of Living Alone
17
Peru: Man-Made and God-Made Islands
18
Challenges, Our Opportunity to Shine
PART THREE: Australia, Living
the Life of My Dreams
20
Melbourne: Footie and Schizophrenic Weather
21 A
Lawyer’s Choice: When Passion Turns Into Obsession
23
Uluru: A Trip to Australia’s Red
Center
24
Because it Has to Feel Right
25
Bali: The Land of a Thousand Temples
and a Million Disasters
26
When an Interview Going Well Lands You the Wrong Job
27
Mistresses and Other Complications
30
When Friendship Marries Lust
31 A
Knot, Some Words and We’re All Done
32 One
Question: Will You Pick Up When Your Dreams are Calling?
PROLOGUE: Words have power, Dreams have
power, We have power
1.
contentment
in solitude
“Once
upon a time, there was a
beautiful girl,
who all day long
dreamed of marrying a prince, make little princes and princesses and
live
happily ever after.”
“Grandma, stop! This is boring!”
“Why, my child?”
“Because it’s not real.”
“The reality might be more boring than you
expect, my dear.”
“No! My reality will be the way I want it to
be! My reality will be
fun, exciting, and adventurous!”
And so it was. That day, I learned my first
lesson: Words have
power, dreams have power, we have power.
2.
My name is Dora.
Nationality: I collect, you pick.
Place of birth: Somewhere in Romania.
Date of birth: Once you know me it becomes
obvious: I was born in
the year of
the strutting peacock. I’m a
Rooster, although
technically a Hen.
Principle place of residence: My head.
Profession: Happiness hunter.
Status: In a lifelong love-hate relationship
with my ego.
Wanted: Dead or alive and never in between.
And this is a story about change: What it
brings into our lives and
what it takes out if it; a story about pain, disappointment,
frustration, loss
but also about courage, love, lust, faith and kindness; a story about
dreams
and our power to make them come true.
The story of a permanent traveler.
1
The World of a Dream Chaser
If
making kids is lots of fun,
When they grow up, shout, and run!
“Knock! Knock! I’m
coming! Is everyone ready for me?”
“Sure we are, sweetie!”
“Think again!”
“We’ll name you Dora, Dora from adorable!”
Little did they know…
And here I was: a tiny child, covered in black
hair, with two sets
of eyebrows, refusing to eat alone, to sleep alone, and even to cry
alone. I
loved company and I made sure everyone knew that. There was no way my
parents
could deny me this pleasure, neither for two minutes, nor for two
hours. The
rules were clear and each time they tried to bend them, I was there to
remind
them. They were the ones who wanted me, so I made sure they had me, all
over
them, day and night.
For reasons that can be easily understood, the
most annoying moment
for them must have been when I was jumping into their bed before they
did,
securing my spot between them. There was nothing they could do to
convince me
to sleep alone. Resistance was futile. But, like they say, where
there’s a will
there’s a way.
The way was revealed to them on a beautiful
summer day when my
curiosity went beyond the borders of our tiny apartment. In that
unfortunate
day for me, but lucky for them, I went out for a walk, picked a flower
for my mom,
and on my way back, met a sweet little boy. Suddenly, the butterflies
changed
direction and from flying all over my head went straight into my
stomach,
tickling me without mercy. Going back home was not an option anymore
and the
hours passed like minutes while me and my boy were holding hands,
happily chattering
away. Soon it was dark. But who cared? What is more magical than
watching the
stars with your new lover, off in your own world, talking and dreaming
with
your eyes wide open? Definitely the answer was not to be found in my
parents’
house.
By the time I decided to go back home it was
late at night. My
parents were sick with fear, the police were alerted, and I was about
to become
a famous person, far too early in life and for all the wrong reasons.
But in
front of the storm, I was calm and jolly, like only a child can be.
“Do you know what time it is?” my father
shouted at me, waking me up
to an unwanted reality.
“It’s time for love, Dad. It’s time for love
and kisses and moon
light misses.”
“Wrong! It’s time for bed! Where were you?”
“Me? I had the loveliest evening. I walked and
I laughed, I sang and
I danced. Oh Dad, it was beautiful.”
“All alone, eh? Did you think of us, your
parents waiting for you at
home?”
“Alone? Never alone, Dad! Grandma told me
loneliness is a demon that
blinds your eyes, petrifies your heart and kills your spirit. In front
of
loneliness, we are the poorest people that ever walk the Earth. We
might have a
past, but we have no future. We might have everything, but still feel
like we
have nothing. Grandma is always right. I call her the wise old owl. No,
I was
not alone, Dad. I went for a walk with my boyfriend,” I
replied proudly.
“So, now you have a boyfriend! Oh well, if you
can have a boyfriend,
you can surely sleep alone.” He smiled victoriously and threw me into
my own bed.
“Sleep alone? But Dad, you miss the point. Once
I have a boyfriend,
I should not sleep alone. What boyfriends are good at other than
keeping me
safe while I sleep?”
“We’ll talk about their usage and abusage when
you’ll grow older.”
“Older? But I’ve already asked him if he wants
to sleep with me when
you and Mommy are not home. He said yes.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t say: ‘Oh, yeah!’”
“So, sleeping alone is what I get back for my
undivided and constant
affection?” I asked caressing his hands and looking into his eyes, like
a cat
ready to start purring.
“Women! No matter the age, they all do it! No,
this is what you get
for suffocating others. From now on, I’ll call you: Winnie, the
seducer.”
“I didn’t know there is a difference between
love and suffocating.
When you love, you don’t feel suffocated. When you don’t,
breathing the
same air makes you feel there is not enough oxygen in the room.”
“First, you disappear. Then, when you come
back, you’re in love. And
now, you think you’re an expert in loneliness, romance, and who knows
what
else. You’re a kid.”
“Smart kid, eh?”
“A smart kid. Happy now? And a pain in the
arse. Now, jump into bed!
God be with you. And don’t forget, dreams are free!”
“And reality expensive! I know, Dad.”
And so, despite all the whys, my protests, and
the injustice, my father’s
decision remained unchanged. No more jumping into bed before they did.
At
night, I was on my own.
Dora’s
Journal Notes
- Everyone speaks,
but few make sense. - Brag about how
beautiful your day has been and the others will
immediately feel compelled to redress the balance. - The best education
you can give to others is your own behavior.
After a safe
eight hours sleep, the second need of every child is to eat, or at
least, this
is what my parents thought. However, I had different ideas. To me, food
was
useful in numerous ways, except the obvious one.
Firstly, out of food, especially if you are raw
vegan, you could make
a facial mask. I desperately tried to convince my mom of that, but
stubborn as
she was, she kept cleaning up both of us, scolding me in between.
Secondly, food was useful for making my frumpy
grandma exercise more
around the garden.
“Catch me if you can is the name of the game,
Grandma! Hurry up! You
are always the loser!” I used to say, running around like a busy bee.
“You barely eat anything, but your energy is up
all day long. I wish
I’d know your secret. It might help with those extra kilos of mine.”
And one day she did. She
caught me in the act.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked me,
laughing.
“Eating?” I answered back chewing my freshly
picked clover and
dandelion, sprinkled on top of a freshly squashed bug.
“At least I know you won’t die hungry when
everyone else will,” she
said gently.
Lastly, I found food a good source to increase
my piggy bank
fortune. I knew money was important ever since I saw my grandma
guarding a
magical drawer, full of coins and bills. Each opening of the safe was
bringing
a new set of emotions: while the departure of each coin was accompanied
by
sights, tears, and some sort of yelling, each new arrival was
applauded,
praised, and accompanied by a small prayer for more.
So I went in the garden and picked whatever I
found my grandma was
more determined to feed me with: carrots, good for the eyes; spinach,
packed
with iron; parsley, the best source of vitamin C. Once safely stored, I
packed
them, took them to the market, and waited.
“Are you lost, child?” a nice old woman asked
me.
“Do I look lost to you? I am just fine, thank
you,” I said, upset on
her remark.
Then, another one stopped by:
“Where are your parents? Should I call the
police?”
“My parents are working, the police are busy
and as you can see I’m
working too. Respect the workers and support the hawkers.”
No one wanted to know the only thing I cared
about: how much I sold my
veggies for. Clearly, no one was supportive of my initiative. I was so
annoyed.
And my annoyance transformed into anger when my father came up to me
visibly
upset and embarrassed, threw away my beloved veggies, and started to
lecture me
about how a girl in our family should behave:
“A good girl listens to her parents, eats
everything on her plate,
and doesn’t throw away food.”
“But Dad, I did not throw it away. You did. I
would have made money
with it, if you didn’t intervene!”
“I’m always in your way, am I?”
“You kind of are. But that’s Ok, I can handle
you. Mom can.”
“You can, can you? Two witches: you and your
mom.”
“Two fairies, Dad.”
“For every woman who thinks she’s a fairy,
there is a man who will
tell you she’s not. Now, listen: there are certain things a young lady,
fairy
or witch, does not do; and selling veggies at the market is one.”
“Lady, such a bizarre word! What kind of lady:
dinner lady, tea
lady, bag lady?”
“Acting silly won’t help you Dora. Not now. You
know very well what
kind of lady I’m talking about.”
“Then, I don’t want to be a lady, except for
first lady. Plus, I
could have made some money!”
“Next time when you want to make some money use
your brain, not your
back.”
“What about using an opportunity, Dad…”
Dora’s
Journal Notes
- Try to be
entrepreneur; stop listening
to your family choir. - When a child goes
for a jog, he takes
his job seriously. Keep up!
Well-rested and
well-fed, I was always ready to speak my mind and say the right things
to the
wrong people. The truth be told, I never figured it out when something
was
appropriate to say and when it was not so. The bare notion of
appropriateness
remained as strange to me as driving a manual car. Of course, I could
have
tried to understand, learn and practice both. But, I did not want to.
In a
world full of grey, I wanted to be either the black sheep or the white
dove.
One day, when a friend of my mom’s kept
admiring herself in the
mirror, I put a blunt stop to her dreams and I told her my honest,
uncensored
opinion:
“It’s the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen. You
look like a big
Halloween pumpkin in it. Or like a stranded whale. Or maybe like a
giant orange
birthday balloon ready to burst. Or…”
“Dora, behave! Apologize immediately! And next
time only speak if you
have something nice to say. Otherwise, keep your opinions to yourself!”
my mom
said, visibly ashamed.
“But Mom, what is the purpose of having an
opinion if I’m not
allowed to express it? Plus, it was the truth. You taught me to always
tell the
truth,” I went on.
“An opinion is not the truth,” my mom replied
bluntly.
“But out of all opinions, one has to be. It
might not be the most
flattering, it might not be what you’d like to hear. Nevertheless, it
might be
the truth. And one should learn to rise higher than their ego and
appreciate honesty.”
“Are you done now girl?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s OK, she’s right. The dress doesn’t suit
me,” my mom’s friend
jumped in. “Pretending is the adults’ game. Children are the best
friends we
can ever have. At least we know they will never lie to us. Your
daughter will
earn many friends…”
“And many enemies too,” mom added frowning.
“Who wants to be friends with lawyers anyhow?”
I said happily
jumping around.
“Liars you mean, my girl.”
“Yes, liars, lawyers, all the same, Mom.”
Dora’s
Journal Notes
- Wise is the one
who knows the right
time for a lie and the wrong time for the truth. - If you want to see
a woman again, tell
her she is beautiful. No buts or ifs. - Nobody remembers
your mistakes better than
your child, followed closely by your spouse.
After going
through the first period of my life overfed, being brutally honest, and
falling
in and out of my parents’ bed, my first day of school finally knocked
on my
door.
Although most people went to school at six, my
grandma, who was a
teacher and the authority on the matter, solemnly
declared:
“Dora will go to school at seven, so she can
enjoy her childhood for
as long as she can.”
“Thank you, Grandma,” I said softly.
Then, she continued:
“This girl, once in school, will be in it for a
long time.”
She didn’t know how right she was.
On my first day of school, because I was
shortsighted, my mom advised
me to go and get a first-row seat.
I should have listened to her. Instead, I did
it my way. At the end
of the day, she found me sitting in the last row, as far from the scary
teachers as I could, watching out the window, the autumn leaves falling
down
gracefully one by one and dreaming of faraway places. I wondered what
they
said to each other before falling down? Did they say their goodbyes?
Did they
weep wishing to live one more day as we do? Or were they happy to start
traveling carried by the wind who knows where. Maybe both.
On the second day of school, my dad ordered me
to stay away from
boys and gypsies. Although they are the largest minority in the
country, gypsies
are perceived to bring shame to any Romanian. They have the life of a
nomad,
never fully accepted, never fully loved and never fully understood, but
always
deserving to be, same as everyone else.
