The old man sits on an old wooden chair and scratches his scruffy beard, he stares past the kitchen hut and watches the sun rise. He looks down at the photograph in his hand and focuses on the young man behind a rusty car chassis. He’s a young man from the village sent over to work in the garden. Back in the village lays his sick mother and his four siblings looking onward with their father. He’s a simple young man, spent his youth herding cows and sheep, not the most educated, reality snatched the wildest dreams right from his mind. He’s barely educated, he has a drivers license and a jovial smile.
The old man would think of him and wonder, what is such a man to do, born and raised in the village, not open to the ways of this new world and closed to it’s aspirations. The young man’s fate like many seems sealed he thinks; who are you in this world if you have no education and connections, what do you boast without skills and finances, what is to be your life when the closest thing to the outside world is an entire village watching football on a small tv every weekend, what is to be your life when you only see the world in your dreams at night. But thats why he’s here doing the gardening isn’t it. He’s a hard worker with dreams and aspirations; he want’s to earn enough to build his own home, he wants to meet a nice girl, get married and have a family, he wants to send his children to school so they learn and dream, he wants to buy a television so they can see the world and a car so they can drive to it.
He knows reality has snatched dreams from his mind, he knows he might never see the carribbeans or the pyramids. But he knows he’ll wake up to the smiling face of his wife, he knows he’ll play with his children when they come from school as the sun goes down, he knows when he is old he will travel to far and beautiful places and see his children graduate, then marry and visit with grandchildren. He knows that even though reality tried to snatch dreams from his mind, he’ll wake up one morning, kiss his wife on the forehead and go outside. He knows he’ll sit on a an old wooden chair on the porch of his own house, he’ll look past his own kitchen hut and watch the sunrise, he’ll look down at a photograph. He’ll smile a jovial smile because at that moment, it feels like he’s dreaming.
We must always reach for the stars, and appreciate the platform built to help us get there.