It was a very high dream

Exactly a year ago, I dreamt that I was in the birthday celebration of Archbishop Socrates (i don’t know why 😂), I was asked to hold a lot of balloons, as in a lot, like the balloons in Pixar’s UP, but they were just silver and gold in color. Then, there was a picture taking, people started to get ballons from me because they thought it would be nice in the group photo to have a balloon in their hands. I was giving it all, letting them get the ribbon/string in my hands one by one. Some flew away in the sky because I thought they were holding it already so let it go. 

I wanted to have one for myself, but I didn’t want to choose. What will be left would be okay, I thought. But the fewer the balloons, the heavier it became. Then I looked up and I noticed what I was holding were not just balloons, there were also kites. 

One string left in my hand and it was of the kite. Part of me asked “why this? If only I had a balloon, it would be much easier to carry.” Despite that thinking, I didn’t feel any sadness or disappointment. I still felt happy with my kite. 

I ran towards the crowd to join the group photo with a string in my hand and a kite in the sky. The string became shorter as I let it go to make my kite higher as I was getting nearer to them, until the end of the string reached my hand. The length was not enough to make the kite stable in the sky, which caused the kite to fall and land on my shoulder. The crowd suddenly vanished and I forgot about the party. From afar, I saw my mother sitting on a bench. Very strange that I felt that I was a 10 year old boy again. My dream ended with that, with me being a kid again, a kite on my hand, running towards my mother, bursting with excitement to tell the story of the kite. 

I don’t know how to interpret dreams, or if there really is an interpretation for every dream. But this dream reminded me a simple life lesson: All our possessions on earth, materials or not, are not ours, like the balloons I was holding in my dream, it belongs to someone else, and it is for someone else. I gave some to others, some were taken away, some were lost, but it’s okay, and whatever will be left, still, be grateful. At the end of the day, the story we have is all that matters, how we’ve become kind and generous in our lives, and to always remember that there is a mother to whom we can always run into and a God who’s always ready to listen in every story we have. 

Aside from this, I feel that there is a deeper reflection of my dream. I know it but I just cannot put into writing. It feels like the message is just for me.

(photo ctto)