Advanced Essay #1 Tati

I remember the first time I read breakfast at Tiffany’s. The old colored paper and the distinct smell of an old worn in book swirling into my nose, there’s nothing like swiping my finger across a page until it reaches the corner and the other side reaches my thumb, as I hang on to every word in anticipation before I flip It. Sitting in class the world around me seemed to dissipate and I kept anticipating the main character to be named Tiffany; since I never even read a review. I became so intrigued by Holly Golightly, the real main character. Her metaphors and analogies intrigued me. The world around me began to blur, my eyes saw black words printed on what used to be white paper, but what I saw was a woman and man at Tiffany’s, everything became so clear the heat of the mean reds, the smell of cracker jack’s and the sound of a cat named cat. I was there. I was falling into a world that didn’t belong to me, or anyone else but lived in my mind, and I was reminded by that when my teacher tapped on my shoulder and told me it was time to go.

I always found myself in what my mom called “lala land” speaking of how a child gets distracted and/or sings while they do things, however I never sang. Instead the world around me would disappear and time froze, or at least it feels like it would. I was never aware of it freezing. It’s not a adrenaline nor a day dream, but a calm. The worst part of it all is always coming out of lala land and facing reality. It’s like being woken out of a beautiful dream right before something spectacular happens. I never know when I go into the zone, I am usually just doing something and once my passion and imagination start spiraling nothing else matters.

Like in those old movies when someone is kissing someone fully in love, Imagine that like getting lost in them, this is usually where the movie cuts off and happily ever they live. But they never show the part when they are snapped back in from their fantasy. Hearing something that makes them realize times not frozen and although they may be alone together, the two aren’t alone in the world. My mind is probably the only thing that has been returned from the Bermuda Triangle. I get so lost in myself, someone or something I cease to realize I’m falling back in, just like the couple. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s like falling in love; the only part that sucks is when you hit the ground, that’s kind of how I feel when I get snapped out of it.

An October Saturday on a New York street felt my heart with joy and I heard a solemn song play in my ear of cars, yelling and people talking because I am and always will be a city girl, no matter what city i’ll be at home. I pulled my grey hoodies sleeves down on my fall frozen red hands and hood over me, in an attempt to fight the new york wind against flipping my hair in a tornado. Lit by a street light, I saw this women painting and man on the sidewalk making names out of wire. It was I looked to the right, a photo for my breakfast at Tiffany’s themed room in Philadelphia. The women put the posters in black thick frames, as my mom watched the man bend wire into our last name, I handed the Asian woman $15. I carried the three photos in a big blue bag, towards my mom with both of my hands, using it also as a shield for the wind. Towards my mom getting the perfect trip nick nack, watching her drift into the same place she’d always catch me in, I paused. Gazing at her hazel eyes glazed over and illuminated by the city, watching the man’s hand bend wires with a tool, almost in second nature, attaching a piece of artwork like the statue of liberty, the women dipping color onto a brush then on a canvas, watching them both. I was watching the three, I could tell none of them were there. She was lost in their movement and they were lost in their art.

It was then that I realized that everybody has their own place of fantasy. Imagination is limitless. Whether it’s movement, dancing, creating or getting lost in our moment. It’s a private island of wealth in imagination, that everyone has a chance to submerge into the boundless ideas, people, places and things. No one’s lala land is the same and never has to stay the same, the one thing it has in common is the part where you get snapped back and reality and realize that these are only black words on what will be only white canvas and there’s more going on then you reading my paper.