People say, life is like a dream. Instantly, then he passed away. So, some people live their lives in dreams above and then fall down again, rise up, then up again. if today he dreams of being in a ditch, then the next day, wake him up on the King's bed, when he awakens from his dream in bed, he finds himself back into the gutter. So on, the never-ending fate series.
Then why should I not dream? whether, because they were afraid, I would not wake up in the King's bed, yet, in this little pile of cardboard boxes? but everyone has the right to dream, for it is the dream that frees the conscience of the choking reality, it is the fantasy that releases the mind from the bitter reality. The reality that the dreamer faced in the ditch.
But, how expensive the price of a dream. every time I say 'dreams', it will only be a scorn of what I get. Yes, the dream that should be free of conscience from the fact that squeeze, even become squeezed by reality itself. Too many dreams, people say. But, is there a limit to dreams? if we limit our dreams just to find another continent in this world, will we reach the current month?
No, of course. So I started putting my dreams into reality everyday. This cardboard house is a palace to me, and in front of the door is made of gray marble. Inside, I have an expensive heating tool, which is commonly seen on the screen.
I also have a luxury bathroom, with ceramics imported directly from Europe. I dream, I carve my own history. Because, we are the determinant of our own destiny, is not it?
But, when I read this in front of the class, they laughed at me. Laughing at my innocent naivete, and that my dream is just an illusion.
I want to scream, I want to criticize, that there is a difference between dream and illusion. dreams, can be manifested with your own hands, and the illusion can not even be touched by your five senses, however you try.
Even our master teacher, against my dreams. He called me after school. Too much imagination, too much illusion, too much dreaming. too much, too much, too much. Is his thoughts about much the same as mine? I do not think so. For me, there is no 'too much' word for a dream, there is no 'too big' word for an idea. However, I can not make the whole world understand, right?
Then this is what I do. Make a silent protest, just with words on paper. I'm tired of dealing with humans who measure something from its quantity only. I want to build my own world, my own dream. the world for people who wake up every day in the ditch, without ever awakening in the King's bed. People who cry more often than laugh happily.
Akita closed her sister's private journal, then sighed. yumeko, he never fully understood the girl. They grew up in the same neighborhood, a slum on the outskirts of Tokyo. No one bothered to look into their area. The area was squeezed between the alleys of the mansions there. no one will realize, no one will care. Wasted and thrown away, that's how they are.
Akita and Yumeko fought a life since childhood. Work out what's on offer to them. However, Akita is very concerned about her sister's education. with difficulty, Yume attended the elementary school in the city center. Every day, before work, Akita wakes Yume and prepares her books. Yume is relatively smart at school, until one day, Akita gets a call to Yume's school.
Yume was in fourth grade. and Akita has no idea why she got a call. Until he saw the essay, an article Yume had written for his schoolwork. Akita's heart rustled violently, and her blood sped up into her head. In front of Yume, he tore it up into small pieces. Yume, however, faced it calmly, as if suspecting this. The thing that makes Akita even more angry.
Akita still remembers some of Yume's contents that made her furious. it seemed to mock their living conditions, which lived from simple cardboard houses that could easily be blown away by the wind. Yume, however, described the opposite, as if their cardboard house was a mansion, which made her furious.
My door is made of glass. he can open himself when I get into it. My house window is made of carved glass, and the floor is made of marble. I have an older sister who works in town, her job is manager at bank. every day, he brought me good food and we ate on a big cold table.
Akita sighed. Why could not she see that that was what her sister wanted? A cozy and big house, the dream she always missed. on the contrary, he took it as an insult and tore his dream away. Why? Is it because he is afraid of dreaming? But, is not man without a dream only a pile of meat running, lifeless and not soulless?
Akita gasped. He had not been aware of it.
I've read somewhere about life. That life is a madness, a shadow, a story, and its profit is very little, because, the whole life is just a dream. and since life is just a dream, is not it better if we make the most of our time in the Land of Dreams? Because, our eternal life is not here, right?
So I set my dreams. When I get past the line, I do not care. I'm still in this world, and that's what matters to me. Even if the whole world is hostile to me, I do not care. Even if my own brother is against me, I do not care. I will defend my dream, I will defend this house.
All right, I'll tell you what happened. this government, this city, will get rid of our house, my house, from this smallest corner of town. Why? Probably, because our presence is only considered as an insect in the maintained lawn. But, where the insect is living on the grass is not it? why remove the tree from its roots?
Removing a tree from its roots will only hurt the tree itself, uprooting someone from its origin will only hurt the person himself.
Therefore, I will defend my dream. I will defend my Dream House, even though I must die in it. Because, he is the root where I come from, the place where I take shelter, and with him I will die.
The autumn sky was red again. That afternoon, in the crowded corner of Tokyo, a girl was running toward her house. His real home was made up of piles of cardboard boxes. he went inside, and immediately closed the door, careful not to know his brother who had been told to leave. But no, he will defend this house, this dream, until he dies.
The bulldozer's voice roared from the outside. He closed his eyes. preparing for anything to confront him. In his right hand is the book of his journal, which he always used to write the forms of his dreams. He lay in the middle of his house, while, the bulldozer smashed and flattened everything. including, himself, who is now squeezed in the middle of boxes and debris.
Everything happened so fast. He had only heard the frantic cry of his older brother who was still inside. including the people clustered around him, circling himself a 'dream' who is now lying awkwardly embracing his own dream.
He smiled, really an irony.
