The Master sat under the eaves, watching the mist settle over the distant mountains. The disciple suddenly jolted awake, his eyes trembling and wet with tears.
Without turning, the Master asked softly, “Did you have a nightmare?” The disciple shook his head. “Was it something terrifying then?” The disciple shook his head again, his voice cracking, “No, Master… it was a beautiful dream.”
The Master turned around, puzzled. “If the dream was so beautiful, why are you weeping so bitterly?” The disciple lowered his head, tears splashing onto the back of his hands. “Because,” he whispered, “it is a dream that can never come true.”
I used to think that dialogue was just poetic melodrama. But now, sitting in this Grade 12 classroom, watching the sunlight being cut into jagged pieces by the security bars on the window, I finally understand that desperate urge to die inside a dream.
My life is disgusting. Every day I wake up to a mountain of never-ending exam papers and the relentless drone of teachers. I feel like a broken part, bolted down to a factory line called the “Gaokao.” Everyone else is sprinting forward, while I feel like a total failure, suffocating in this mechanical, death-loop of a routine.
And what makes me feel like a complete idiot is the girl I like.
She’s right there, just a few meters away. When she laughs, it’s like there are shattered stars in her eyes, yet I don’t even have the courage to look up. I hide behind stacks of books like some freak in the shadows, feeling like even a side-glance is a desecration. In my head, I’ve said hello to her ten thousand times; I’ve rehearsed ten thousand romantic reunions. But in reality, I just hunch my shoulders and pretend to stare at a math paper covered in red marks.
I am exactly like that disciple. In my dreams, I’m not this socially awkward coward who only knows how to tinker with servers and can’t even string a sentence together. In my dreams, I can hold her hand without hesitation. I don’t have to care about scores or rankings. I can show her the world I’ve built.
But the bell rings, and the dream shatters.
I have to put that oversized, ugly school uniform back on, lower my head, and crawl back into this rotten life. I’ve realized that the greatest pain isn’t never having what you want; it’s that the light in the dream is so bright that it makes the ruins of reality look even filthier.
I just wanted to stay for one more second. Just one. But this world won’t even give me that.