Dream - July 26 - Tayabas
The corrected version of the text is as follows:
The dream began in a whirlwind of ambition and pressure. I found myself sitting in a vast, high-rise office, a scene reminiscent of the bustling, cutthroat world of the movie "Wall Street." The air thrummed with palpable energy, a symphony of ambition and competition. Hundreds of men, a blend of American and Asian faces, all clad in crisp suits and ties, were locked in a silent battle for success. The room felt like a stage, the air thick with the scent of power and expectation.
My task was simple: sales and the stock market. But the competition was fierce, each man a formidable force in his own right. We were all vying for the same prize, the coveted recognition of being among the top performers. My close friend, whose name I couldn't recall in the dream, sat beside me. His name was called first, and I was genuinely happy for him. He deserved it. We high-fived, a silent acknowledgment of our shared journey.
The anticipation for the second spot was palpable. My heart pounded in my chest. I knew I was good, maybe even one of the best. But the weight of the competition pressed down on me, a constant reminder of the countless other talented individuals vying for the same prize. As the boss, a man with a thinning hairline and a noticeable bald spot, spoke, his words a blend of praise and justification, I couldn't tear my gaze away. He was looking at me, sizing me up, weighing my worth. I held my breath, a whirlwind of hope and fear swirling within me.
And then, he said my name. My full name echoed through the room. The roar of applause was deafening, a wave of pure joy washing over me. My friend, his face beaming, gave me a high five. We deserved this, we had earned it.
The contest, however, was far from over. The room transformed into a chaotic battleground, a symphony of deals and negotiations. I found myself standing on a table, a strange, inverted Y-shaped tree branch before me. Its three branches, pointing upwards, represented the three competitors, and my task was to collect the golden paper money and wrap it around the branches. The money flowed in, my colleagues at the same time are giving me their golden paper money. They are like pushing each other so I can get their money first. As I secured each bill, I felt my lead growing, the branches assigned to me are getting thicker than my competitors, the weight of victory settling upon me.
The scene then shifted, transporting me back to the Philippines, specifically the Makati area. The cityscape was a stark contrast, a blend of abandoned buildings on one side and bustling towers on the other. It was a scene of stark beauty, a reminder of the ephemeral nature of success. I was now a reporter, interviewing famous singers and celebrities, and we are on the abandoned building side.
I spoke to at least six of them, each encounter a unique tapestry of stories and personalities. I asked One, a well-known radio DJ, "Is it true that someone will pay for their song to be played?" He nodded, and the singer beside him answered and revealed the dark underbelly of the music industry, admitting the existence of Gay men paying for their favorite artist. He then asked me if I am willing to sponsor. Then I said I am poor. His words were a stark reminder of the compromises often made in the pursuit of success.
The dream then shifted again, placing me in a conversation with two new singers. One looked like Jet Pangan, the other a long-haired guitarist who bore a striking resemblance to an Eraserheads member. I was about to tell a joke that Jett looked like John Lapus, but I stopped myself so he won't get offended. As we walked along the street, Jet Pangan walked forward, and I am left with the long-haired guitarist. I asked him, "do you guys fight each other?" and he said No and it is Normal to have arguments but we respect each other as artists. And then I woke up.
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