We often categorize ourselves as either dreamers or realists—a debate philosophy has wrestled with for ages, without resolution.
I like to call myself a dreamer: someone who reaches for the stars, knowing they might be out of reach. I’m someone who’s a little naive about the world, believing everything happens for the best—someone a realist would call a fool.
For as long as I can , I’ve been in a constant rush, desperately wanting to feel in control. I leap into the unknown, fully aware I might fall and crumble under the weight of my worries, I yet cling to the hope things will unfold as I’ve dreamed and planned. I’ve done this so often I now wonder if I’ve been mistaken—do I truly have control over anything?
Spoiler alert: none of us do. But oh, how we love to believe we do.
Still, I’m not bothered by this. When I find myself in difficult situations, I often turn to music, searching for lyrics that resonate with my experience. The first two songs on my “Soundtrack of My Life” playlist are, for obvious reasons, Meryl Streep’s cover of “Slipping Through My Fingers” and Billy Joel’s “Vienna.” Both songs capture the essence of who I am—better than Descartes ever could.
When I sit around the table with my friends and family, ionately mapping out our life plans, we speak with unwavering confidence, convinced our visions will play out exactly as we imagine. But then life, with its unpredictable flair, throws a curveball, saying, “Deal with this now.” And just like that, we find ourselves bowing to fate, surrendering to a script we never agreed to.
My first uninvited script began with a vow to steer clear of men, convinced their flaws and inability to treat someone kindly were the final straw. But fate had other plans. It made me fall head over heels for the most beautiful soul. After two years and countless cherished memories, I can’t imagine my life without the love we share.
Looking back, I was so determined to control my own life, to stay away from relationships and people offering only half-hearted commitments. If you had asked 18-year-old me if I’d ever be in a long term relationship, she would’ve laughed in your face. I’m terrified to it that my desire for control could’ve lost me the love I know now.
So, perhaps letting myself fall for this unexpected script wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
The second uninvited script came long before I was aware of my ambitions or desire for control. I always imagined a future where I’d grow up and grow old in my beloved hometown of Aleppo, side by side with my best friend, who now lives in Armenia. Yet, the war swept through like a thief, robbing us of the chance to bring that dream to life.
In reality, none of the scripts from my childhood were stories I would’ve dared to write for myself. I would never have written a story where my dad and grandpa were kidnapped, where war cruelly tore my family apart, or where my home was bombed, leaving us without one. The thought of being miles away from those I love is a chapter I never could’ve imagined.
In my version of the story, my dad and grandpa would’ve taken me to dance practice, feeling my dreams of becoming a professional dancer. I would’ve written a script where every Sunday was a family dinner, with laughter echoing through a home that still stood strong, filled with warmth and love. But the truth is, the tension I feel toward control comes from never really having it—from being torn between the unpredictable dance of life and fate.
Despite it all, I’ll never stop dreaming and reaching for the stars. So, what if the scripts didn’t follow my exact words? I know I’m capable of love, and I’ve found strength in the face of adversity. I will forever live my life with an open heart, full of space for so much love.
Billy Joel promises Vienna will wait for me, whispering that I’ll get to chase all my dreams when the time’s right, and I’m ready to embrace my path without tearing myself to crumbs. Meanwhile, Streep’s voice echoes in my ears, reminding me to be okay with control slipping through my fingers, with life veering in unexpected directions.
You might be wondering what comes next, how my story might unfold. I can’t say that in two years, I’ll be graduating and heading off to another school—that’s a script I refuse to write for myself. Instead, I’ll write this one: throughout my life, I know I’ll inevitably wake up from my delusions and ambitions. But, I’ll never stop growing in love, nor will I cease to chase my dreams and embrace my inner dreamer. Even on the toughest days, I’ll hold on to the belief that my capacity for love will guide me toward the good—and nothing less.
No matter what we plan, I’ve come to realize that while we may have a vision of our futures, life will eventually deliver a new script to our doors, taking us on adventures we never planned or dared to write. As scary as change may be, always that the script wouldn’t come to your door if you weren’t ready for it.
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