Dreaming and Doing: The Sky Between Them

I think I figured out how to live in a dream.

Not just the idea of one, but the embodiment of it—awake, present, and somehow still floating. You know those surreal moments that feel more like scenes from a movie than slices of real life? They’ve become my Saturday plans.

Like when Mr. International asks if I want our next date to be in a hot air balloon—just before he skydives off of it. Or when I take a casual walk in my neighborhood and end up on a breathtaking hike, sweetened by every dog stopping to say hi, only to find a letter H on the ground.

Sometimes, it’s hard to accept this as reality. But then again, maybe it’s not about acceptance. Maybe it’s about remembrance—that I asked for this.

This past weekend, my dad met Mr. International through, of course, a perfectly on-brand activity: jumping out of a plane. Yes, we all went skydiving together. Then we drove through the stunning Montserrat mountains and ended the day with Mr. International taking my dad home on his moto. They got along like old friends. I laughed—deeply and often. That day was perfection.

My dad’s takeaway? He told me he was proud that I’ve found someone who crafted and shared with me a version of Barcelona that’s boundless. A world where motorcycle rides and airbound dates are just part of the weekend.

Sometimes it does feel like this life fell into my lap. But I know better now. It didn’t just fall—I opened to it.

Because I’ve finally learned to see that I deserve this.

And looking back? I was preparing for this all along.

All the long walks last semester, the late-night meaning-of-life talks with friends—they were the runway. Every time I said yes, every time I encouraged a friend to leap with me, every soul-expanding choice I made. I was crafting the girl who would be ready to fly.

And that’s what’s so surreal about dreaming—its manifestations can arrive so beautifully that you forget you once wished for it.

So what do I do with this knowing? This reverence for the doing?

I get really, really comfortable with the waiting. The in-between chapters.

Because I’ve learned the in-between isn’t punishment—it’s invitation. And when life slows me down, I no longer panic. I listen. I just prepare the runway again.

So here I am. My last month in Barcelona. School’s done. Dance finished last week. No plans. No schedule. Just freedom. Just sky.

And I’m ready to soar again—because I know now: The dream isn’t just what you chase.

It’s what you choose to live in, whether you see the promise or pray for its arrival.