To write out one's dream

I sit on the couches of Trinity College Dublin's art blocks. People buzz around me, moving to and from classes, the library, the cafes.

I sit among this university frenzy and tell the tale of my dreams.

I am a voice. I am a beautiful voice that induces excitement, wonder and happiness in all who hear me. I studied with ******** ******, a teacher who lead me to such success that she herself is inundated with young singers looking to follow in my path. And while others do succeed, none as deeply and as profoundly as me.

I am offered a scholarship to Juilliard.

I have perfected the art of singing. The art of singing being the ability to create beautiful sound. It is the most beautiful sound, that has united all critics in their praise for me. I go to New York, making my debut with the Met's production of Les Contes d'Hoffman, playing Olimpia. I am twenty five years old. I am begged to come to London, where they welcome me as one of their own. I play Olimpia. I move from London back to Dublin where I am treated as a heroine, a national treasure. I am not even thirty years old.