Conceivable Dreams

Are dreams -  not those during REM-sleep but when we're wide awake  - supposed to be always the inconceivable kind? Or, was it what Don Quixote in "The Man From La Mancha" declared in a song: "The Impossible Dream"? Or, are they as aspirational as that which shook and changed the nation in Martin Luther's "I Have a Dream" speech at the Washington mall in 1963? Is it still a dream if it were the conceivable kind?

We all dream, even when awake, sometimes seriously and often, but no less frequently we also day-dream.  The latter is a mix of wishes, aspirations, and a no-holds-bar inconceivable desires or craving for something almost unattainable as to be relegated only in the realm of miracles; except, miracles happen sometimes, don't they? Yes, we all dream and they're different not only from person to person but from one phase to another in a person's life. These dreams change because people change, their circumstances change, their world has changed, their needs constantly change.

First, let's ask this question.  Do you dream in your sleep in color? Think about that for a minute.  Some people aren't sure; others have not really thought about it; some say it depends on the dream. Apparently, nightmares and bad dreams are always in black and white.  Not sure why. Happy dreams are remembered to be in color, or colorful. Actually, surveys are split.  Among the youth, they claim to dream in color, while most older folks believe they dream in black and white. So, personally, what do you think?  Chances are, you are not so sure anymore, are you?

Back to dreams we make up while fully awake.  There is no argument that we, in general, indulge in fantasy or wishful dreams and some of those dreams we pursue based on having the ability to at least try or we have the capacity within reason to attempt to achieve. It is totally reasonable to expect certain dreams to be conceivable. But what is conceivable to one is pure fantasy to another. 

A hot shot Wall Street trader on a good year can conceivably dream about a brand new Porsche at year's end when bonuses are handed out. Three floors below on the same street that this trader walks every day to and from an exclusive garage, a hot dog vendor may dream about the same Porsche he sees in the movies or TV ads, but that would all be pure fantasy to him. However, as I alluded to in the second paragraph, miracles do happen - such as, from the winning Power Ball  jackpot ticket; but such is itself one inconceivably long shot. Same dream for a hot shot trader and a hot dog vendor, separated by a wide chasm between what is conceivable and what is not.

Growing up on a Pacific island after the war, when I was between five and seven years old, one of countless post-war babies who were fortunate to have survived birth, reared by shell-shocked parents, during the year of independence as a country after fifty years as a U.S. colony, our young minds had too much to process.  As a young child, I thought of our world on the island as one that was in black and white, and the distant far away place we knew to be America was in color, more specifically in Technicolor. This was despite the fact that the environment around the island was filled with green vegetation, lush rice fields that turned from undulating green to a golden mat at harvest time under blue skies, flowers that bloomed year round in bright colors - all the qualities that define a tropical island.  So, why did that child's mind think that America was in color to our black and white world?

Well, both national and local papers were in black and white, and so were Filipino movies (then) while "Shane" and "War of the Worlds" were in color.  DC comics and Rod Serling's "Twilight Zone" series (all in color)  were much too expensive to own  for the kids from my poor neighborhood, so we would go to this local book store where upstairs they rented comic books for on-site reading on tables and desks. To save money a group of four or five of us will  rent one comic book each and we'd exchange them round-table-wise until we've read them all. That took us all a good part of an afternoon. "Superman", "Jack and the Beanstalk" and "Robinson Crusoe" (Fairy tales and Junior classics section) were all in color.  National Geographic was in color.  It was strange that I thought my world was in black and white while this land from somewhere so far away, we would imagine to be in color. Like I said, that was out of a child's mind.

Our early education was a hold over from half a century as a U.S. colony. Teachers were a product of the old system. American history was still part of civics classes along with learning about the newly minted republic that was an exact copy of the U.S. electoral system of mayors, city councils, the House of Representatives and the Senate, down to the parliamentary and election rules.  Although the present date of Independence Day has changed, the original Philippine Independence Day was July 4, 1946, which stood for decades until it was revised to June 12, which was the date of Independence from Spain in 1898.  Not to be forgotten, The Philippines was a Spanish colony for three hundred years. But lest we forget, 1898 was the year Spain lost the colony to the U.S. immediately after the Spanish-American War, along with Cuba and Puerto Rico.

So, in elementary school we knew by heart "America the Beautiful" and the new Philippine national anthem. We would sing "for purple mountains and amber waves of grain" that to me further reinforced the image of America in color. Though predominantly a catholic nation from the time Spain took over the archipelago, Christmas songs soon switched to American influence, so that we would sing "Jingle Bells" with gusto, although we had no clue what "dashing through the snow" were really like and what "sleigh bells" were for. Artificial Christmas trees were shaped like pine trees although pine was not a common local species. 

Post liberation after WWII, much of the country was poor.  Economic progress was slow. Post war babies turned teenagers, then to young adults and some went on to college. I was one of the fortunate ones to finish with an engineering degree from a university that was founded by an American missionary back in 1901. I had outgrown my fascination with a colorful America. I worked for a multinational petroleum company, got married; my wife and I had two children.

It was a happy middle class life; much of my "dreams" were fulfilled. My first airplane flight was not until I went to Manila for a job but it was preceded by many decades of day dreaming about it when we can only watch planes take off and land at the nearby airport. I never dreamed that later in my job I would be taking frequent business flights, including one overseas. We had a car - a luxury then during that time - although I didn't know how to drive until well after my 23rd birthday, five years after college.

My wife had a dream of her own. Before we met she had applied to immigrate to the U.S. It was three years later when she got a letter from the State Dept. with the forms necessary to start the process. But we were going to get married, I just started my dream job at the multinational company and my childhood dream of a colorful America a mere mental footnote; therefore, I was not too keen to uproot our lives and start over at a distant land.  So, she simply did not start the process.

Fast forward to seven years later, after a couple of moves to other parts of the country, we moved back to Manila. A letter came in the mail at her parents address from the U.S. State Dept. To make the story short, she went through with the process.  I was still un-enthusiastic but I went along for the interview since her application was now for the entire family. The vice-consul who interviewed us convinced me. Reading our submitted resumes and work experiences, he encouraged us to seriously consider immigrating to the U.S. and reminded us that if we did not avail of the opportunity, it will go to the next applicant in-line.  Approval was quick but we had to leave within the next 4-6 months.

As we settled into our seats in the cavernous belly of a 747 jumbo jet, I, for a brief moment, was transported back in time of the six-year-old wondering about a far away land in color.  All four of us were on that plane with tickets courtesy of the airline's "Fly Now Pay Later" program. No payment due until we were able,  via an installment plan to begin after securing employment. Mind you, the U.S. was in a recession, in the middle of an oil crisis as a result of the OPEC embargo. But I was convinced we were going to a land that was in Technicolor.  We paid for those tickets plus interest  starting on the first paycheck.  I don't remember for how long but it was fully paid,

The inconceivable dream of a young boy came true. We were blessed, I must acknowledge that. It was my wife's dream that started it but  the first few years of (any) immigrants' life were not easy but somehow not only that dreams kept evolving as our own lives kept changing, the dreams became more and more conceivable. Where and how we live now, compared to the nipa-thatched roof, with no electricity and no indoor plumbing throughout all my first sixteen years of age when the village was finally patched into the expanding electrical grid (still no indoor plumbing though), can only be described as one inconceivable dream that came true. 

Of course, there are countless stories like ours. Other narratives are more spectacular, perhaps some are more inconceivable miracles. One thing is consistent with these stories.  Many of these fortunate folks never stopped dreaming.  And oftentimes, the dreams become more and more conceivable, given enough time to pursue them, and learning along the way not only to recognize what is truly achievable and what is merely a pleasant day dream. 

Whatever our circumstances are, to dream evokes optimism, to not dream or do less of it is to be pessimistic about the future. We should not stop dreaming because that day when we do stop is the day we have given up.