my dream girl essay

Dear John – no this not a “Dear John” letter. How the heck are you! Thanks for your letter it was “muy” (very) interesting, quite poetic, a little “off the wall”, but I liked it a lot anyways. I’ll answer your questions now – with your permission of course…thank you. I am fine – healthy – happy – living, breathing, sleeping, eating, you know – the usual. Eastern is fine too – it is happy – eating – sleeping – I have a roommate this semester and fun neighbors – Debbie, the girl with the red hair that you met, is one of my neighbors.

The letter goes on, offering vague information about classes she’s taking and comparisons between the new semester and the previous one. Halfway through her letter, which was handwritten on both the front and back on two small sheets of stationary, she writes, “It’s kind of hard to answer your question, How How How etc. etc.? so I’ll leave that for the sequel to this letter.”

At one point in the letter, her neighbor with the red hair, whom I also don’t remember, writes in one of the corners: “John. Remember me. I’m Debbie but names aren’t important. I hope everything is going well. Hope to see or hear from you soon. Take Care. Debbie.”

Names are apparently not important. Debbie has no last name. Erin has no last name, not even on the envelope, where she is simply Erin and a dorm room address, school, city, state, and zip code.

Erin is not the girl from the recurring dream. But I introduce Erin as evidence of someone who existed about whom I remember absolutely nothing. There are no other letters from her in my cardboard box. I did not, to the best of my memory, take up her offer to visit her and stay in her dorm. And if, before finding this letter, I’d had a dream with her in it, which is entirely possible because she surely exists in my unconscious mind, I would have wondered the same questions. Is she real? Did we ever actually meet? And if we had met, where and when did we meet? Clearly, I thought enough about Erin to write a letter to her, and she had thought enough about me to write back. So why has my memory of her entirely vanished? Why do I remember absolutely nothing about her at all?

Several years ago now, not long after setting up my Facebook account, I began searching for old friends, people who’d disappeared entirely from my life, most of whom I’d had no intention of sending friend requests to. I only wanted to see what had become of them; I wanted to satisfy my curiosity. Except for Steve.

Steve had been my best friend my sophomore year of college. I had transferred from Illinois State University to Southern Illinois University, and I knew no one at my new school. Steve was in my creative writing class, the first creative writing class I had ever taken, and after class one day, he invited me to a party at the house he lived in with several other guys.

Steve lived in a house called the Pancake House, named so because cooked pancakes that had been left out to harden would get hammered to a wall and hang there for months like pinwheels. At his party, one of his roommates – a gloomy older student who wore a long, black trench coat – bitched about the uselessness of creative writing classes. Steve and I stood at the bar in the living room and argued politics. It was a good-natured argument in a way that such arguments would never be good-natured now. After we argued, we hung out on his porch, drank until daybreak, occasionally prank phone-calling professors we didn’t like.

There were many parties that year, and when there weren’t parties at his house, Steve and I would find other parties. There was never a shortage of parties in Carbondale. It was rare for a day to go by that we weren’t headed somewhere together. We frequently hung out with the same two girls whose names I no longer remember, and though Steve and I both liked the same girl and she seemed to like both of us equally, I would always end up hanging with the other girl by night’s end.

Over winter break, I drove up to Steve’s parent’s north side Chicago house, which turned out to be a mansion with a large stone security fence surrounding it. Steve met me at the gate. I didn’t say anything, but I suspected Steve would have been embarrassed introducing me to his parents. I wore shabby clothes. I drove a shitty car. But I said nothing about this. As spring semester wore on, we made plans to room together our junior year. We had even picked out an apartment complex, but that summer when I called his home to talk to him about our plans, I was told he had moved to Japan for the year. I’d had no idea that he had been thinking about moving to Japan. And then, like that, I never heard from Steve again. That was it.

Twenty years later, I contacted Steve through Facebook. I mentioned the creative writing class, the Pancake House, the prank phone calls. He wrote back to say that although I had an amazing memory, that although I had conjured a number of things he had forgotten, he had no idea who I was. I wrote again, this time with details about the two girls we had spent time with, about one particularly weird prank phone call that involved singing and guitar playing, and about the time that he and his roommates had had sand was poured into his house for a beach party. In his reply, he was amused by my anecdotes, but no: He still didn’t remember me. At this point, I wasn’t sure how much to push it. How could someone whom I had considered my best friend for the better part of a year have absolutely no memory of me? What happens when you cease to exist in someone’s consciousness? And so I reminded him of how we were supposed to have been roommates but how he had gone to Japan instead. Steve wrote back, “Look, I really don’t remember you, and I don’t know what you want from me.”

How could I explain to him what I wanted? I didn’t want confirmation that all of these things had happened because I knew that they had. I didn’t want confirmation that they had not been figments of my imagination because I knew that I was sane, that I had not blurred reality with fantasy. What I had wanted was to conjure up myself, like a genie materializing out of smoke, for someone who had allowed me to disintegrate from his memory. How was it possible not to remember the person with whom he had spent a good deal of that year?

Unnerved by this episode more than I probably should have been, I eventually unfriended Steve and let it go. But had I ever appeared in one of Steve’s dreams, he would have assumed, should he have remembered the dream upon waking, that I was a fictional character. He would not even have entertained the possibility of my existence. For Steve, I would have been something he had created out of nothing.

As for my dream girl, she is gone now. I can already hear someone say, But now that you’ve written about her, she’ll always be with you , but this isn’t the case. She is disappearing. She is disappearing as Erin had disappeared or as I had disappeared for Steve. But in the dreams, especially the dream in which I returned many years later to find her still living in her parents’ house, I felt as though our timing had at long last synched up so that we could start what we had never been able to start before. I was in love, in other words. I was in love in a way that I had rarely ever been in love, even with women with whom I should have been in love but couldn’t, for one reason or another, admit the truth: that I wasn’t in love. Or at least not in love in this way. But in the end, this woman, this girl ostensibly from my past, is a mystery and will likely remain a mystery. But here’s what I know for certain. I miss her. I miss her deeply, whoever she was, whether she was real or not. Even if she never existed, even if I had conjured her from some wellspring of longing, the emotion is real. And maybe that’s what this dream is about. It’s not about the girl I might have once known or the woman she might have become. It never was. It was about a feeling I must have once had for someone, before years of subsequent heartbreaks and anticipations of doom caused me to forget not just the feeling itself but the longing I once had for that feeling. What the dream was saying to me was this: Remember? Remember?

____________________________________________________________________

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The girl of my dreams

Essay by olbap , University, Bachelor's , B+ , November 2008

download word file , 4 pages download word file , 4 pages 3.0 2 votes 1 reviews

Since I was a little boy, I always dreamed of falling in love. I always desired to meet the girl of my dreams and one day, hopefully, to marry her. I never imagined she would appear in my life the day I least expected it. In the tenth grade, I used to go to the mall every day after school. I started meeting new people and eventually they became my friends. But it wasnÃÂt until February 19th, 2006 that I saw something amazing. I was at the mall and I saw this beautiful young lady that filled my eyes with obsession. She had an appealing body; she had green eyes like an untouched rain forest; her face was astonishing, I could have taken her to participate in model competitions and she would have won. The first thought to knock on my head was ÃÂThis girl has to be mineÃÂ.

Little did I know, the girl was attracted to me as well.

That day I entered my room and locked the door. I started thinking about how this girl messed up my head so profusely. I did not know what happened to me. The next day I thought it would all be over. I was wrong. I kept thinking about how well formed she was and how bad I wanted to see her. At mid-day Tuesday, I convinced myself that I had to see her again.

So as soon as class ended I rapidly made my way towards the mall, hoping that I had the chance to see her at least one more time. The girl didnÃÂt go to the mall that day. Lucky me, I knew one of her good friends. I told him all about my forbidden feelings for his friend. He said ÃÂShe feels the same way about youÃÂ. I was so happy. I had never felt happier in my life.

I went home and cleaned the garage, mowed the lawn and washed all my neighborÃÂs cars. The funny thing about all these things is that I would never be happy enough to do chores willingly. That same day, the boy called me and told me she was right next to him, that she wanted to talk to me. He put her on the phone. As soon as I heard that sweet and sensitive voice I realized I had to impress her. I had to make her think I was good at everything because I was already afraid of losing her even though I still didnÃÂt have her. We agreed to meet each other at some point.

As we planned, we met at the movie theater right next to the mall. Two months later we were in a serious relationship. I met her family and she met mine. I noticed that what I had with her was what I had always been looking for. This was how I imagined my first true love. When we dated around 3 months, we decided to go the beach at night. That night we promised we would never leave each other. I remember how every piece of the forsaken puzzle was building up and falling in the right place at the right time. A week later, we decided to explore our physical feelings. That night, I fell in love. The most beautiful and sincere feeling of my life had bloomed like a flower in spring. It was so special. It was an unforgettable night for the history of my life. Everything was perfect.

My family thought she was a great girl. Every day they asked me if I had seen her. I knew they were overwhelmed in a good way. I knew they were happy to finally see me explore my inner feelings. Oh so I thought. A couple of months later, I heard my family saying hurtful things about my girlfriend like ÃÂshe doesnÃÂt deserve our boyÃÂ. Things got bad after that. I would fight with them every single day for the same reason.

I was always trying to convince them. I would tell them the truth about my girlfriend. She was a good girl; in fact she was a great girl. She meant no harm to any of us. I felt unsupported and to be honest, I felt the two faces of the world. How it can one day act like your friend and the next day do things a trusted person shouldnÃÂt do. But thatÃÂs when everything around me started to fall, and the big ÃÂLÃÂ word was not what it once meant to me. After thirteen months we finally broke up. I was so confused. I couldnÃÂt even find a good reason to define why I was no longer with the girl of my dreams.

About a week later I found out she was already dating another guy. I couldnÃÂt get a good memory into my brain to heal the pain that was in me. All I had in my mind was hate and disgust. The rate of my grades decreased. I felt so different from what I had ever felt. Bad thoughts were running through my mind. But surprisingly, she made an appearance at my house. The reason she went to my house that day was because she said she felt depressed about not having me by her side any more. We spent around 6 hours talking about what we were going to conclude of our situation. I told her we couldnÃÂt get back together because she had a new partner. She said she was no longer with him. I still refused to get back together with her. My final answer was NO.

Months later, I spent every single day regretting not getting back together with her. It is until this day my parents donÃÂt want me with her. I still miss her. ItÃÂs been two years since I last saw her. I act normal on the outside but that girl will never leave my heart. IÃÂve grown psychologically during these past two years. I love her still. I will never forget my first true love, the girl of my dreams.

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The girl of my dreams. (2008, November 11). In WriteWork.com. Retrieved 01:10, March 14, 2023, from https://www.writework.com/essay/girl-my-dreams

WriteWork contributors. "The girl of my dreams" WriteWork.com. WriteWork.com, 11 November, 2008. Web. 14 Mar. 2023.

WriteWork contributors, "The girl of my dreams," WriteWork.com, https://www.writework.com/essay/girl-my-dreams (accessed March 14, 2023)

Reviews of: "The girl of my dreams" :

The writing in this essay is reasonably good, but there are to points at which the essay fails: first, why did the boy's family turn against the girl? Did they have some reason for the hurtful suggestion that she wasn't good enough? Secondly, why did the boy finally break off the relationship? They broke up. If this girl was so desperately important to him, why did he end the relationship?

0 out of 0 people found this comment useful.

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Ideal Spouse: Dream Woman

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The ideal spouse might be evasive for lots of people. Maybe they do not know what they’re searching for, perhaps they don’t know how to discover the ideal person, or maybe the perfect individual is just not in their environment. Nevertheless, if an individual knows what one wants, then the perfect partner may not only remain a dream, but materialize into reality. For me, there are various ideas about what a dream lady would be. Although numerous men may say they would like a wife to kind, beautiful and tough working, the ideas about what it indicates to find this in a lady might not be the very same for each male.

A much deeper check out the concept of the dream woman from my own perspective might shed light on the distinct desires of one man in the look for the right mate. In my opinion, a dream woman would make me feel just like that, as if I remained in a dream.

Proficient in: Dream

“ She followed all my directions. It was really easy to contact her and respond very fast as well. ”

She would level all of the rough areas in my life and make me feel as if I was floating in a sea of relaxation and satisfaction. Just the method that she looked or behaved would set my heart on fire and beat a rhythm of calming music through my life. It would never ever be that I got tired of her or even wanted her to be away from me for a moment.

Even though there might be circumstances and times when we could not be together, I would yearn to be back in her existence.

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The ideal partner would be a woman who would never let me down and rather have caring, patience and love for me, every moment of every day. Qualities of my dream woman would include her being kind, beautiful, and hard working, and, for me, this means that she would always be open and communicative, she would be thin and look after herself in healthy ways, and she would enjoy to look after our house and kids.

Her generosity would be warm and welcoming, like a tender smile or laugh or a gentle touch, her appeal would radiate naturally from within and burst like sunlight to everybody around her, and her hard work would be focused on caring for me, our home, and our household, providing adequate quality energy and time to cleansing, cooking, and taking care of me and our kids. In contrast to other men, the qualities of my dream female are special to me. I would not like a wife who was superficial and only cared about things, who was only kind to herself and not to others, who consumed about the next costly cars and truck or vacation.

It would also be sad to be married to someone who wore shiny clothes, high heels, makeup, or even fake breasts. The perfect woman, in my eyes, would embrace and radiate her own natural beauty, have long hair, wear simple necklaces of shells and wood, and dance around in sandals. Her tan would be natural from playing in the sun and not bought from a tanning salon or a tube of tanning cream. My woman would love cleaning our home and cooking for her family.

She would kiss me before I walked out of the door every day and greet me when I came home, and the love and caring that she’d offer our children would be limitless. As far as romance is concerned, my ideal spouse would love to hold me, kiss me, caress me, have sex with me. She would offer no limit to the amount of tender passion we would share. Every morning and every night in bed together, we would lie side by side and say hello or goodbye to our days with loving touches and words. Just like in dancing, I would take the lead and show her the way toward perfect love making and ecstatic bliss.

She would follow my moves and work along with me in find the best rhythm to our romance and our united life. In speaking to others about our marriage, I would always smile and say that we are nothing less than satisfied, and believe it heart and soul. Finding the perfect soul mate may not be easy, and the idea of what it means for a spouse to be ideal may be different from person to person, however, finding that very special someone or working hard to make a relationship very special and intimate is the foundation of true happiness for many people.

There is no joy in a life without love, and romantic love is at the heart of joy. Families wouldn’t survive without the self giving passion of all of the members, and the tender care between husband and wife is surely something to treasure. The pursuit of health and happiness is something we all crave, and finding it in the eyes of the other half is like the shine of bliss.

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By John McNally There's this girl I used to know. Or did I? It's getting harder for me to distinguish my dream life from my past life. I'm fifty now
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Since I was a little boy, I always dreamed of falling in love. I always desired to meet the girl of my dreams and one day, hopefully
Short Essay: My Dream Girl At Prom Night
Free Essay: Dream Girl at Prom Night. Every young man and woman's dream during high school was going to prom night. It was one of those moments in their
Ideal Spouse: Dream Woman Free Essay Example
Qualities of my dream woman would include her being kind, beautiful, and hard working, and, for me, this means that she would always be open and communicative
What is your dream girl like?
My dream woman is someone with a personality that is kind, caring, and positive, though not without trying or effort expended. She is funny, or at least has
Essay on My Dream for Students and Children
Everyone has a dream in his life which they want to achieve when they grew up. In this essay on my dream, we are going to discuss the basic things that will