My Dreamcatcher

(Disclaimer: This entry is solely based on the imaginations, thoughts and reflections of the writer. It bears no relations, or is nor an advertisement campaign by the Native Indians from America, the Hollywood or some folktale somewhere.)

The Native Americans (the politically correct term for "Red Indians", like 'Oriental' is for 'Asians', and whatever have us!) have long believed that dreamcatchers serve a purpose in the nightly slumber. Dreamcatchers are hung above their beds near where the head rest, and it is believed that bad deams are caught in it, so it does not reach the resting person; but would allow good dreams to pass, and make the sleep a sweeter one.

Powerful huh?

I remember once, some time back, when I was still in secondary school, my teacher asked the class what we would want to be when we grew up. We all had big dreams in our lives then, as usual, there would the a share of lawyers, doctors and engineers. There would also be some that would want to be pilots, sailors and soldiers. And what we had to do was to put a picture of what we wanted to be in a frame on our desk.

Funny things we did.

Rarely would you get some that would have chosen the route of a teacher, social worker, or nurse. I remember a classic incident where I had a friend who wanted to be a taxi driver. This friend of mine, was particularly lazy, and was too lazy to find a nice picture of what he wanted to be; so conveniently, the taxi driver's picture was somewhere within reach, thus pasted.

It was that very day I realised how dreams have to be engineered for the acceptance of society as one that is successful. The result of the picture of the taxi driver rings in my mind today and each passing day creates a deeper resolve to allow the young today, to realise their dreams.

If my classmate really wanted to be a taxi driver, I see no fault in it. There are many children in Singapore who's rice on their dining table is brought home by a taxi driver father. There are many university graduates who's tuition was paid for with a taxi driver's pay.

It only saddened me that we have reached a point where dreams can never be realised if our mindsets are not broken, to realise that if anyone dreams of being a taxi driver, let him be, but encourage him to be the best taxi driver in town.

You never know, he may know the road systems so well that transport ministry may hire him!

If someone's dreams were to be a toilet cleaner, give him or her a chance to be the best toilet cleaner in Singapore; Even the Environment Minister visits toilets as part of his job, to see if it is clean or not!

What is my point? Simple, let us live our dreams the way we dreamt it to. Its not about being lazy to dream, but being hardworking at fulfilling our craziest dreams. It is encouraging us to live our dreams, and being the best at it, that matters. It is sharing with us how to live life to the fullest.

Be my dreamcatcher today, distinguish between my good dream and a bad. Recognise me for my dreams, and push me to fulfil them, with the very best I can muster. The very least you could do, don't dream dreams for me.

Roti Prata Master

Tan flipped his 8th prata in a bit without breaking a hole in it while stretching it. In an appearance that gave his onlookers the impression that he had 2 right hands, or probably 2 left, they couldn't tell. It was sure clumsy, but definitely entertaining. But patience like the prata, was wearing thin, waiting for it to be broken, like every of the 7th that went before, they asked would they even be fed.

"Piak!" Screams a piece of dough, flat and meshed under the palms against the top of the shiny table top, a Prata Master, wearing his moustache over his pouty lips; at his mastery's routine clearly shown on the yellowish ghee on his worn apron.

This is the story of the Roti Prata master.

He creates the dough in the night, late night. As the dough, carefully created by the balance of the simplest elements such as flour, ghee (and for the vegetarian, margerine) and water. Simple but when meshed together by the hands of the man who's livelihood depends upon its ability to mix and sticks, to become probably the strongest material to hold the life of the Roti Prata Master.

On each order, the prata holds its place firmly, spreading out widely, thinly, and thoroughly stretched under the skillful hand of the Master chef; every flip, it spreads wider, thinner along.

Yet it remains strong enough to hold and not break, under the demands of an egg, onions, and even bananas. Stressed each condiments within, yet held tightly in its thin and stretched pastry; the Roti Prata has become one of the favourite Singaporean Breakfast treat, with innovations of all sorts, you can even find an ice cream in one!

That is the skill of the Roti Prata Master. To expand the prata so thinly and wide, but yet not breaking by the stress of what it has to carry within; along with the weight of every customer, and their expectations.

Then to set them to fry, until crisp. In this thin layer of dough, it is fried to perfect brown, but not dry.

I see a piece of dough in all of us. A potential to be stretched skillfully and not tearing, a lifespan to hold through great and heavy matters within. A life of great expections and fulfilments, a lifestyle of purpose and and intention. An exisitance to comprehen.

I can only try my best to be of good use, but I will ultimately be in the hands of the grandmaster that will hold me together while spreading me, to protect me while quashing me against the metal table, to put me to the fullest use, like the roti prata.

Or be put in the hands of Tan, who's entertainment will never feed his customers, his dough will never be crispy.

It was not the dough, but the hand; the hands of makes the prata.

That is the strength of the Roti Prata Master. Are you one in my life?