Good Friday 18 April 2003

Pic of the day: People interest me, perhaps I should create some more of them. These are from The Sims. They are not based on anyone I know.

Cynical dreamer

I have thought, over and over again, that "my hopes and dreams are not those of other humans". That's a bit too assertive, perhaps, since they may hide their hopes and dreams. Only today did I realize clearly that there is a more significant difference between us. Almost everyone else has a dream they believe will come true.

Now you may say that this is also the case with me, since I believe in the resurrection of the dead by divine intervention (directly or in some hitherto unknown scientific way ... we know very little about time yet). And it is true that, because of the many people who met the resurrected Jesus Christ, I do have some faith that such a dream can come true, no matter how far fetched it seems. For something that happened almost 2000 years ago, it is pretty well documented. If it were up to me to choose my belief, it is likely that I would prefer Buddhism. But whereas Buddhism has logic to go for it, Christianity has some guy get up from the grave and meet with around 500 people before he took off for outer space or wherever he went. I'd dearly like to know what happened back then, but I guess that's as far as I come.

***

The real difference is the everyday dreams – daydreams, of course – that most people have. These are not grand and cosmic, but within the realm of the humanly possible: To get a better job, a new and better car or house, to be respected or perhaps even famous, to find true love or at least sizzling hot mutual desire, and have children to be proud of.

Since, for some reason, so few ordinary people contact me to confess their everyday dreams, I base my knowledge largely on cheap novels and advertising. I think this is reasonable, since cheap novels sell like bread and cheese, and since advertising is so effective that people regularly buy more than they earn. Admittedly this is particularly true for Americans, who are not exactly world renowned for their tranquil depth of mind. (This was where the English novel, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was translated to American: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.) But truth to tell, the advertising here on the right side of the pond is not exactly appealing to the philosopher in you, either. Nor are the cheap novels.

It must have been a gradual process. I shared some of the excitement when I was young, I remember that. But somehow, as time has passed, I have lost the belief that things in this world can make me happy. Some of them are truly nifty to have, and very habit forming, like beds and computers and DSL connections. But somehow they don't make it to the foreground unless they break. I use these things, I depend on them for my lifestyle, but there is no sizzle. There are no expectations except "this thing had better work or I'll return it". (Incidentally, I got the DVD burner to work yesterday, so I'm not returning it as I had planned.)

What is more creepy is that I don't dream about human relationships either. This is what is usually on people's minds, is it not? I don't just mean romantic relationships. I mean all our social interchange. It takes up the human mind, and the brain goes like: "And then if she says that, I'll say this" or even "if she had said that, I would have said this". Feverishly trying to map the future or ever worse, rewrite the past. And then we'll make love, or I will finally get the respect I deserve, or whatever people think is lacking in their life. Yes, it is fun to write fiction about. Humans interest me, perhaps I should create some more of them.

That's not to say that there isn't "someone I like" as they say in the Japanese animations. You know there is, and she knows too. Someone who makes my day brigher just by being there and being herself. It is a rare thing indeed. But I don't daydream about spending time with her, I don't lay plans to try to get another chance at basking in her presence. It is time for her to move on and forget me. One should not compare other men to me, for I am not like other men. Not anymore. Other men have hopes and dreams like herself. I don't. Not anymore.

***

It all boils down to this: For decade after decade, year after year, the daydreams have died. Either I have reached them, or I have abandoned them. Until the goal was where I already stood. As advertisers used to say when I was young: "You have already won!" I guess I did. Some time, a couple years ago, I stood at the top of my life and looked down the path I had climbed up, and the path down ahead of me. And I wished this moment could last forever, that I could stop and not go that path down into oblivion. But even that is beyond me. Why bother dreaming about what you can reach? When you have reached it, it will still crumble in your hands, you yourself will still crumble, it will all end. If you want to dream, dream of the impossible, for you will never lay your hands on it only to see it die there in your hands.

And so I dream of rising from the dead, and leaving for outer space, or wherever incarnations go when they go home. To a place which won't crumble in the cold hands of time.