Everyone's first dream is either to be rich or to get something they've longed for. It's almost universal—the ambition that bubbles up in childhood, and the occasional motivational speech from adults who've long since given up on their own dreams.
But the truth is, those dreams are nothing more than wishful thinking, a little delusional paradise where everything miraculously falls into place if you just work hard enough.
But that's the problem, isn't it? Reality doesn't care about your dreams. Reality is a cruel taskmaster that only rewards those who play by its rules, and those rules have nothing to do with how hard you work or how badly you want something. You can sweat, bleed, and sacrifice all you want, but in the end, most dreams never become reality.
Then, what happens to people if they don't achieve their dream? They break, instead.
Breaking dreams of someone is a brutal, almost surgical act of cruelty. It's not something you can do half-heartedly; it requires a certain kind of courage, or maybe just a deep well of bitterness, to see it through.
But as far as I'm concerned, it's a waste of time. I'm not talking about myself. I'm talking about the people who actually do it. Whether it's an intentional or a careless slip, the damage is the same. And when excuses start flying, you can see them everywhere.
But let's not get sidetracked.
People like to hide behind excuses, to soften their blow of their actions with a well-placed apology. As if that changes anything. The dream that they made is still shattered, and no amount of justification is going to repair it.
Out of that deep one, for now. I enrolled to Chuo High School in Ichihara, my hometown. My expectations? Practically non-existent. After all, my experiences with schools have been consistently underwhelming. They tend to be predictable, a dull repetition of the same routine. I've learnt not to expect much from the same trash.
Still, I thought, why not? Maybe this time something will actually surprise me.
But let's be honest. I wasn't exactly holding out hopes. The chances of encountering anything genuinely new were too slim. Adapting to new environments is always such a hassle. It's not just about finding your ways around a new place, it's about dealing with new faces, and new rules. It's almost laughable how much effort you have to put in just to fit in.
I guess it's better not to hope for too much. If experience has taught me anything, it's that holding out for a miracle usually just sets you up for disappointment.
And it's not like I'm some reincarnated prehistoric creature that needs millions of years to adapt to new surroundings. Though, given how I described myself, I get how you may catch a hint of that. However.. Moving schools and having to constantly memorizing new faces? That's genuinely terrifying. Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine.
I send my eyes darting around the surrounding of the new route to school. It's strange. But I have this feeling that I've been through this section before. It's a blend of foreign and familiar, a sensation that's oddly disorienting.
Maybe because it's a station away from my home. Lucky? I guess that's another way to put it. I'd call it a small mercy. My previous schools were always a whole district away, draining my savings and leaving me scraping by on food stamps. Not that literally, but each commute was a financial sinkhole, slowly eroding me my resources and inching me closer to death.
Now that this issue is resolved, I'm saved from the brink of another financial disaster. There's a strange sense of relief in realizing that I won't have to start pawning off my limited possessions or begging my parents for an advance on my meager allowance.
And, the school's uniform is actually very impressive. They've clearly put a lot of effort into it; it's stylish enough that it could easily become a trend. I think to myself, if I'd had something like this back then, maybe I could have pulled a few girls.