Dreams, they are so insignificant and delicate like a water bubble. If you constantly pump them with the right flow of breath the bubble grows bigger and bigger, more charming and shiny. But, howsoever if something touches it from outside, it bursts into millions of molecules that can never be repaired. As a child I had a dream to fly like a kite in the infinite sky. I dreamed of travelling in the universe with wings outstretched and the head held high, passing through the clouds and galaxies in outer space.
I had dreamed of my youth to be as joyful as a video-game, with lives in stock to risk the one I had at hand. I had dreamed of making mistakes and replaying it again and again. I had dreamed of passing from one level to another with an untouchable high score and an unbeatable performance. Life to me was a bucket filled with colors and a plate full of all kinds of sweets that would be tempted and admired by all. Life to me wasn't mathematic-equations or engineering derivatives, in fact it was mountains with tree chains and a lush green carpet of grass. A place where meditation, tranquility and spirituality would come to me and I with open arms would welcome it.
Life to me would have been a blank canvas on which I could paint myself a mighty king with an army of soldiers standing behind me and a beautiful queen standing on the other side of a river on the bank filled with daffodils. The youth that I had fancied was more like a tree with leaves in different shades of green and colorful flowers blossomed all over, that would attract birds and bees. Days there would pass with the body dancing to the tunes of their chirping and buzzing, and not to the horns and honks of the passing traffic.
A field filled with yellow sunflowers facing east and mountain tops overlooking a valley of flowers and trees of all kinds was what I had felt with each passing day in my childhood. It was more like white pigeons flying in a flock and swans travelling transversely across the blue sky in an arrow formation with least movement of their wings.
Dreams of a pleasant future were like handlebar mustaches growing abundantly on the cheeks and not like the ones trimmed every third day. It was always about spreading like a creeper, upwards with strong roots and an irresistible grip. It was like a butterfly fluttering innocently, yet attracting every eye that fell upon it. Dreams of a beautiful future was not salt that had to be added with limits, but sugar- the more you poured the sweeter it got. It wasn't a bathroom shower, but an outdoor torrent that drenched everything and after which followed a clean green universe with little herbs and grasses popping out of the belly of mother earth. Dreams then were not related with limits and restrictions, but with abundance and freedom, like shoes that touch every corner of the world and not socks that always remain inside.
Whenever in the past my mind ran across the thought of soul and body I always admired it with the relation of a nib of a pen and the ink within. The nib like the body has a purpose to touch, write and pierce as much as it can, and the ink inside the refill helps the nib perform its duty a million times in its span. Also, it leaves its immortal mark on the host in the form of a verse, story or sometimes a stain.
Dreams often occurred to me like a long empty road waiting to be traveled across by tires that had a firm grip. The engine hardly mattered as it only had the purpose to aid the tires in their rolling mission. Challenges, obstructions and difficulties were like punctures, meant only to give rest to the tires and make them even determined to travel forth.
But, as time rolled things changed and their meanings altered accordingly. I realized life isn't sunshine, rainbows and mountain tops, but instead a race and a marathon. No matter how determined and hard you start, only the end line matters. It turned out to be the survival of the fittest. Irrespective of whether you loved participating in the race or how good you felt crossing the finish line, only winning mattered. Life in true sense meant pushing back someone and taking their place.
No one cares to remember you even if you were the matchstick that extinguished burning an incense stick. Only the fragrance and the incense stick is remembered. Life thus turned out to be selfish with motives and missions, with greed and ambitions that fulfilled one's own self and profited others the least. In the race to be ahead, you are thus expected to be not only clever but also cunning, not only determined but also prepared to push back anything and anyone that comes in your way.
If this is what being ambitious is than I had never wanted to be one. My dreams of a glorious future were of togetherness and mutual benefits. They were like a kite that soars high and takes the thread along with it. they were like the tires that took on the journey to travel on all smooth and bumpy roads, suffering and smiling while the windshield only smiled throughout the journey, looking at the beautiful scenes.
If only I can find a way to unite dreams with living, and not pushing to live; I believe a better world, of the one I and you had dreamed together in the past would be attained. And what else do we need to live if not love? Because someday wealth and positions will vanish like smoke, but love shall always linger in the form of fragrance.
