When I was a kid, I always struggled to answer this question: “What is your dream?”

As I grew up, the question changed slightly: “What do you want to do in your life?”

And later, the question became more frequent and daunting: “So, what do you do?”

I’ve never been able to answer those questions. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. So I always said “I don’t know” or “I’m looking for a job”.

But one time, I needed a solid answer. I really had to say it.

The person who asked me that question was not my parent. Nor a teacher nor a career counsellor nor a financial planner.

It was a 12-year old girl.

I was a university student in a drama major at that time. I was a senior, and most of my peers have already gotten job offers from established companies. Unfortunately, I have failed to get any job, so I had no idea what I was going to do after graduation.

My friend Akiko, who was also in a drama course, asked me to help this drama education program at a local elementary school during our summer break. I gladly helped her.

Momoka was one of the participants of that program. She was shy, but at the end of the program, she seemed to be enjoying playing theatre games and improvs.

After the program, Momoka, Akiko and I took the same bus to the train station. As Akiko and I felt a bit nostalgic after visiting an elementary school, we were talking about what kind of kids we used to be. Suddenly, Momoka asked me.

“Could I ask you a question?” She seemed to be tense.

“Yes?” I said, wondering what she had in her mind.

“What is your dream?” She looked me in the eyes.

I was dumbstruck by the question. Not knowing what to say, I looked for a “right” answer. Of course, I didn’t want to disappoint her. Who would want to? It was a question from an innocent and vulnerable 12 years old who is about to discover the world. “I don’t know” would be the last thing I should be saying.

I stuck for an answer. Should I frankly tell her that I failed to get a job and don’t know what to do? Should I give her an honest answer that I am giving up my dream to be an actor because I see myself with no talent? I hesitated.

“Well, I…, I want to work for the arts,” I said.

“Arts?”

“Yes, I love theatre, I love arts. I believe in the power of the arts and literature. I know, it is not easy to sustain one’s living solely by being an artist. But I want to work for the arts as long as I can. Maybe I might end up with a day job and a volunteer work like I did today. But still, I would be happy as long as I could work for the arts.”

“Hmm.” Momoka seemed to be thinking.

“What is your dream? Do you have anything particular in your mind?” I asked her.

Momoka sighed like a distressed adult does.

“I’m in this national youth choir group. I love singing, and people say I’m good.  Some elder members of my choir have succeeded as professional singers. I want to be like them too. But my dad doesn’t want me to do that. He thinks it is too risky. I don’t know what I should do.”

She mentioned the name of a well-known choir group. I easily understood her hesitation— it is a very common dilemma. It is not that she does not have enough talent. She does have a talent. But the problem is, talent does not guarantee her commercial success. And she has to make a decision if she is really going to pursue a career as a professional singer at her age.

“What should I do?” She asked me. What should I say to her, I thought to myself. What can I say to a pre-teenage girl who is trying to be a professional singer?

“I cannot tell you what you should do,” I said. Momoka looked a bit discouraged.

“Ultimately, it is your life and your choice. But…” I tried to find a word.

“What I can tell you is chasing your dream is one of the happiest things in life. Sometimes life gets in your way. I don’t want to sound too pessimistic, but things happen. Who knows, you may have to move to other cities, develop some health issues, or meet someone whom you want to share a life with. Or you might find something else you become more passionate about than singing. Well, the most common difficulty is a financial problem, to be honest. Anyways, when you feel you cannot continue singing anymore, you will know that. And it’s okay if you decide to stop singing. In other words, if you find something you love, continue to love it as long as and as much as you can. Because… I think loving something or someone ultimately makes us happy. I’m not 100% sure, but I’m thinking that way.”

While I was talking to Momoka, I was feeling so insecure. To her eyes, I might have looked a responsible adult which I actually wasn’t. I couldn’t promise her that I will devote my entire life to the arts no matter what. I was worried to be a starving artist. And I was ashamed of my lukewarm attitude. My answer may have sounded indecisive, but that was all I could say.

“I see. As long as and as much as I love.”

She looked half-understood and half-puzzled.

“But the most important thing is you need to talk with your father,” I said.

“He is opposing you just because he cares about you. Talk to him and tell him that you really want to pursue singing. If he still says no, you should find an alternative way to continue your singing, such as joining a glee club in high school or something.“

She nodded.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Good luck.” I smiled.

“Thank you.”

As the bus arrived at the train station, Momoka walked off to the car waiting for her at the roundabout. I waved at her. She bowed to us and disappeared in the crowd.

“It was a good piece of advice.” Suddenly Akiko said to me. I was surprised.

“Was it? I didn’t think so, I was feeling so guilty for her innocent question. I wish I were more determined.” I felt embarrassed.

“No, it was an honest answer,” Akiko said. “I’m also undetermined.  When I think of my future, I wonder how long I can continue to commit to the theatre.”

We both have seen too many friends who gave up on acting as they started applying for jobs at the senior year. Some of them were really talented. Some of them have been so devoted to theatre. Yet they chose to leave the stage for good.

“It’s hard. And I totally understand why you think that way.” I said to Akiko.

“But I liked what you said,” Akiko said.

“‘Continue to love what you love as long as and as much as you can.’”

“Yeah, ‘cause you cannot be a good actor when you don’t love acting.” I laughed.

15 years later, Akiko is still involved in theatre. I, on the other hand, have chosen to get a “real job” to be a “responsible adult”. But I failed to continue to pretend somebody not who I really am. Eventually, I involved myself in a couple of community theatre productions and organised improv events and write plays. And, admittedly, it makes me happy.

“What do you want to be in the future?”

I still come across with this question every now and then, mostly at the career counselling or the dinner table with family.

And I say “I want to write stories”. Because I cannot tell a lie anymore.

I just keep writing.