A young boy new in the village decided to walk around the neighborhood to find new friends.
On the first street, he met an old man with a staff, wearing a rugged hat.
"What is your name?" he asked.
The old man answered, "I won't tell you my name, but I'll tell you who I am. When I was young and at the peak of my strength, I have a dream to become a writer but never wrote anything," then waved goodbye.
The skies went gray, and rain followed. There was no shade or a place to hide from the rain. A gypsy old woman suddenly appeared behind the young boy with an umbrella and saved him from getting wet.
"What is your name?" he asked.
The old woman answered, "I won't tell you my name, but I'll tell you who I am. I am a woman with a dream of becoming a writer, wrote hundreds of stories, but never got published."
"Why you never got published?"
"My dream is to only write. I write to please my own soul, not to be read by others."
The rain suddenly stopped and the old woman disappeared as if it comes and goes with the rain.
The young boy started to lose hope that he would find new friends. He only met was an old man who has a dream but never did anything about it, and a gypsy old woman who has a dream, did something about it, but only for the sake of her pleasure and sanity.
It's time to go back home, he thought. Before he took another step, he saw a man pedaling on a bicycle from afar. My last chance.
"What is your name?" he asked after prompting the man to stop pedaling. The man looks old but not as old as the two, and wears prime clothing and a classy wool ivy hat.
"I won't tell you my name, but I'll tell you who I am. When I was young, I dreamt of becoming a writer, so I did. Some of my books were best-sellers, some weren't. It didn't matter, though. As long as my words convey messages that could touch hearts, I have lived my dream," the man said, smiling.
Slightly confused, the boy asked again. "Earlier, I met an old man whose dream is also to become a writer but never wrote anything. Then I met a gypsy old woman who writes only for her own pleasure and sanity and doesn't want to read. Now you, whose also dream is to become a writer, and writes to add value to people.
"All of you talk about the same dream, yet different. What is the true meaning of dream then?" he met his eyes, waiting for answers.
"There are three perspectives of dream. A dream with no action, a dream that didn't go further because it's not shared, and a dream that brings an impact on others. But can you say which is right?
"We cannot measure a person by how he dreams. It is a choice that we make for ourselves. Our choices must define who we are, not others. And in every choice, there should be respect. There may be three perspectives of dream, but it doesn't mean one is better than the other," the man explained.
"So you think you're not better than the old man and the gypsy old woman?" the boy asked for the last time.
"Absolutely not," said the man and left.