The weight of carrying someone else's dream
A short reflection on human connections, the deeper meaning of gifts, and dream inspiration.
The good thing about a cosmopolitan city like London, especially when you visit its Heathrow airport or major train stations, is having the opportunity to experience people from all walks of life, bare and raw. By observation, I have assimilated a thousand and a million dreams from strangers at these stations.
When I first moved to the UK, my Polish friend Kinga gifted me three books over time.
The first was Chasing Black Unicorns by Marek Zmysłowski, in which he tells the story of building the Jumia platform—which he called the "Amazon of Africa"—and how that journey landed him on Interpol's most wanted list. The second was Long Walk to Freedom, Nelson Mandela's autobiography. And the third was Dreams from My Father, a memoir by Barack Obama.
Before then, I was not interested in reading people's biographies. However, each book, in part, exposed how dreams are inspired and further made me reflect deeply on human connections. Starting with my friend Kinga, why was it always about dreams with her when it had to do with me? Only she could answer that.
But she, in a special way, made me wonder if people could see the burden of our dreams just by interacting with us. I doubt it. Because if that is the case, why have there been people who talked to me a lot about their dreams, but I didn't buy in?
However, some people didn't speak much about dreams, but I perceived the weight of their dreams—to the point that there have been instances where I could perceive this weight from looking into people's eyes.
In such situations, I adhere to the lines of one of my favourite song lyrics, A Monster in Paris by Sean Lennon - "I hide my 'dreams' inside a cloak of night, beneath the red scarf and a chapeau. The pearl of my heart is locked within a shell. Too afraid to let it go, to let it show."
Because if humans can form connections by sharing dreams. I believe someone can poke a needle at your dreams and hurt you. I once opened up to a mentor I so much looked up to. It took a few words from him, he said, "Don’t you think you are far from reality to be seeing things this way?" To send me into my shell for over three months.
For one thing, I thought he, too, of all people, could understand my dreams…
By the way, at this point, I wish to give a big shout-out to all the dreamers, the idealists and realists, and the undocumented who inspire and encourage me, or at least did and said nothing to harm my dreams.
But how do humans form dreams? Obviously, some dreams are simply too big for them to be a mere fraction of an individual's imagination. There may be a sacred part of delusion (Delulu syndrome) at work.
Not the kind of reckless belief that dazes you and clouds your judgment, but a subtle, flickering hope that suggests something greater is within reach, even in the absence of solid evidence. In fact, it may be most powerful when proof is nowhere to be found, inviting you to venture into the uncertainty.
Then there's a higher level of dreams. Born from connections deeper than the inspirations from family's expectations, peer pressure, human connections like the kind of inspirations I got from my friend, Kinga's books - things learnt on television or by observing the realities you were born into. In fact, they go beyond even your desires.
I dare to say that those dreams are genetically interwoven into your being. It is probably the type that Barack Hussein Obama II, an American politician who was the 44th president of the United States from 2009 to 2017, A member of the Democratic Party, and the first and only African American president in American history - wrote about in a memior which he called "Dreams from my father."
I've come across hungry, passionate, aspiring individuals dim their light because they were told that it was safer to play it safe rather than to fully embrace their potential.
But the weight of those dreams is sometimes bigger than them or anything life could possibly throw at them as a huddle to stop them.
After spending the last 10 years of my life in active education, in which I self-sponsored, I have suddenly realised why I couldn't stop myself, even when everything that seemed plausibly realistic is taking another route.
I have come to terms with having a mother who gets fascinated by seeing people who are well spoken and articulate through their education. And a father, who fervently wished he were educated.
In moments when I must have spent the last drop of energy on a long shift, I tell myself that once I get home, I will sleep it off. But wonder how and where I find the strength to study when I get home, which is exactly the opposite of what I had thought to do when I get home.
I could see my father's spirit beaming a radiant smile of approval at me. In those lonely nights, I feel strongly within me that I am doing something someone else wished they could, but for some reason beyond them couldn't.
After all, it is not just a dream. In fact, it is not just my dream. It is perhaps the dreams from my father. A man's dreams who died ten years ago.
Ekene dropped a tear here...
POV - the weight of carrying someone else's dreams is more than the weight of always needing more.
Many thanks for reading my perspective and giving feedback.
My fervent wish is for the personal growth of everyone and the success of all young professionals who put their hearts and souls into finding their purpose in life.
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