A young boy new to their village decided to walk along the neighborhood, hoping that he will find new friends.
On the first street, he met an old man with a staff and wearing a rugged hat.
“What is your name?” The young boy asked.
And the old man answered, “I won’t tell you my name but I will tell you who I am. I am a man with a dream. When I was young and on the peak of my strength, I want to become a writer but never really wrote anything. It was a dead dream.”
The old man said goodbye.
The skies went gray, then rain followed. Scanning the vicinity, the young boy sees no shade or any place to hide from the rain. Then a gypsy-looking old woman suddenly appears from his back with an open umbrella that protects him from getting wet.
“What is your name?” He asked.
The old woman answered, “I won’t tell you my name but I will tell you who I am. I am a woman with a dream to become a writer. I wrote many stories and novels over the decades but never get published.”
“Why you never get published?”
“My dream is to only write. So I did. I write to please my own soul. I do not write to be read.”
The rain suddenly stopped. The gypsy-looking old woman also disappeared as if it comes and goes with the rain.
The young boy is starting to lose hope that he will meet new friends along his walk in the village. Whom he met was just an old man who has a dream but never did anything about his dream, and a gypsy-looking old woman who has a dream, did something about it but only for the sake of her own pleasure and sanity.
It’s time to go back home, he thought.
After he regains his senses, he noticed from a far an image of a man pedaling on a bicycle. He thought it’s his last chance to finally meet a friend.
“What is your name?” He asked after prompting the man to put his bicycle on halt.
The man on the bicycle looks old, but not as old as those two that he met a while ago. He is decent with neat clothing and a very classy wool ivy hat.
The man smiles at him, “I won’t tell you my name but I will tell you who I am. When I was young, I dreamt of becoming a writer and I became one. Some of my books became best-sellers while others didn’t. It didn’t matter though. As long as my words convey messages that can possibly matter to people and might touch lives, I have lived my dream.”
Slightly confused, the boy asked again.
“Earlier, I met an old man whose dream is also to become a writer but never wrote anything. I also met a gypsy-looking old woman whose dream is also to become a writer but only writes for her own pleasure and sanity. She doesn’t want her works be read by people. And now you, whose also dream is to become a writer and writes to add value to people.
“All of you tell about the same dream but different in meanings. What is the true meaning of dream then?”
The man answered, “There are three perspectives of dream. A dream with no action; a dream that did not go further because it is not shared; and a dream that makes valuable impact on the life of others. Can I say that the true meaning of dream is what I did? I don’t think so.
“We cannot measure a person by how he dreams. It is a choice that we make for ourselves. Our choices must define who we are, not other people. And in every choice that we see, there should be respect. There may be three perspectives of dream but that doesn’t mean one is better than the other.”
“So you think, you are not better than the old man and the gypsy-looking old woman,” the young boy asked for the last time.
“Absolutely, I am not.” The man said as he leaves.
And the young boy continues his walk back home.
ABOUT THE WRITER:
Madylene Tuazon is a writer and the founder of Creative Thoughts. Her mission in life is to co-create valuable works through writing and encourage creative people to embrace their gifts and share it to the world.
She says, “There is a strong urge from the core of my soul that I have to let my thoughts, wisdom and stories out through a platform that is accessible by people all over the world.”
She is from Manila, Philippines.