One would think that, after a lifetime spent beneath the same ceiling, it would be possible to count the number of notches on a popcorn ceiling. I can confidently assert that it is impossible. After living under this roof for over 17 years, I still haven’t been able to determine the exact number. Each morning, waking from a dream already fading from memory, I faced the daily challenge of attempting to calculate the countless bumps. Though it was a futile task, it helped me regain clarity. I reached 3,781 before my eyes began to ache. Begrudgingly, I sat up, yawning and scratching my back. It was probably around 6 AM. I didn’t need to check the time; despite my struggle to wake up on school days, I always rose early on weekends. Slowly, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. After completing my usual routine, I headed straight to the kitchen. As expected, my parents weren’t there. My dad worked the morning shift, and my mom volunteered at the local homeless shelter. I opened the refrigerator and grabbed some leftovers. While microwaving them, I checked my phone. With only two friends, there wasn’t much to see. Robert was already up and had texted me that he was at the local library. Sam was probably still asleep. I replied to Robert, letting him know I’d join him soon, and then ate my food while scrolling through my phone.

I’m not typically the kind of person who frets over appearances. However, I realized that a change was necessary, as my current look resembled that of a gas station attendant. I picked out a light blue hoodie and a pair of comfortable sweatpants, appropriate for the chilly weather outside. After slipping my feet into my Crocs by the front door, I hesitated. Should I go? This might be the only peaceful moment I have at home. Do I really want to spend it at the library? I reached into my pocket and pulled out a penny, deciding to leave it to fate. Placing the coin on my right thumb, I flipped it into the air, resolving that heads would mean going, and tails would mean staying. The coin landed heads up. Letting out a deep sigh, I opened the door and stepped outside.

The cold air made me cringe at first, but it felt rejuvenating after I got used to it. I had to walk since both of my parents were using their cars, and my bicycle had a flat tire. But, it was only a 5 minute ride, so I figured that it wouldn’t be too taxing. The sun was still rising, but the light somehow still reached its way into my eyes, so I had to slightly cover my eyes with my right hand. It was May 21, the last week of school. The week before I graduate. Generally, it’s a pretty exciting event. You finally reach the threshold where you move on from being a kid to an adult. You’re done with school, and you finally have the freedom to do whatever you want. College, trade school, or just taking the first job you get. Hell, if you want, stay at home. You’re an adult now. You’re free. But, that’s not the case for me. I don’t want to graduate not because I would miss it. I’m definitely ecstatic over not having to go to school anymore. I don’t really have any favorite teachers, or any fun school memories. All it really was to me was just a means of getting educated, not a place to make memories and friends. Go on, think of me as an edgy guy. I won’t blame you. If I was in your place, I would think the exact same.

I'm not excited for graduation, not because I'll miss school, but also not because I'm worried about becoming an adult. Taxes, getting a job, paying bills, insurance—all of that doesn't faze me in the slightest. My parents prepared me for those responsibilities at a young age. I also have a full ride to a local college, so I don’t have to worry about student debt. Plus, my dad has a connection hiring computer science majors, which will be my field of study. Honestly, I’m all set. I have nothing to worry about. So, why am I not excited? Because graduating means I have to abandon my dream. My parents have essentially mapped out my life since birth, leaving me little room to pursue my own passions. They steered me toward computer science because of its growing job market, aiming to secure a stable and prosperous future for me. As a kid, I resented that. I didn’t want to be a programming nerd. I wanted to explore. I dreamed of venturing into the icy depths of Antarctica, spelunking in uncharted caves, and swimming in the abyss of the ocean. That's what I truly wanted. My parents, however, were not pleased with my aspirations. They believed that a career as an adventurer was impractical and too dangerous. They argued that there was little demand for adventurers and no one would fund an expedition into a place like the Mariana Trench. Over time, they managed to convince me to abandon those dreams. Or at least, they thought they did.

My grandfather was my sole believer. Whenever he watched over me at his house while my parents were busy, he would listen to all my aspirations and dreams with a gentle smile. He encouraged me to keep dreaming and would even join me in imagining various scenarios. We would shiver as we hiked through icy mountains. We swung our flashlights around as we slowly walked through the dark caves. We slowly floated through the murky waters of the Mariana Trench as we searched for deep sea monsters. After he heard of my parents’ attempt of disillusioning me, he had a serious talk with me.

“???, why do you think your parents want you to be a programmer?”

“They want me to be rich.”

“Heh. That’s true, but that’s not all. They want you to have a stable job, and have a life where you don’t need to worry about debt or being homeless.”

“I guess.”

"Your parents love you deeply, ???. They only wish the best for you and fear any harm coming your way. However, this love sometimes leads them to doubt your ambitions. They're apprehensive about the risks involved in pursuing your adventurous dreams. They fear potential physical injury, financial strain, or loneliness that might accompany your exploration of the world. To them, your dream feels like a daunting challenge. It's not that they wish to dissuade you, but they can't help but worry about the perils that could arise."

“I know, I know. They’re just worried about me. But so am I. It’s not like adventuring will be easy. I know it’s gonna be hard and dangerous. But, I also know that this is what I want to do. I want to explore.”

“Understanding the true essence of a dream distinguishes those who are awake from those who remain in slumber.”

“What does that mean, Grandpa?”

“It’s just a little quote I came up with. Now, before your parents come home, I need you to understand something. You listening?”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Yes, grandpa.”

"Dreams are aspirations we strive tirelessly for—goals that give us purpose. But not everyone achieves them. Many end up disheartened and despondent, yet they continue living, redirecting their focus toward smaller pursuits, smaller 'dreams.' A dream isn't the most crucial aspect of life, but some become overly fixated on it. They can become so consumed by their dreams that they neglect and hurt their loved ones. That's my concern for you, ???."

“Why?”

"Your explorations could affect others if something were to happen to you. If, for instance, you were seriously injured during a mountain climb, how do you think your parents would react? They'd blame themselves for allowing it and agonize over your well-being."

"I won't be reckless like that."

"That's not the point. What I mean is this: Will you have the strength to pursue your dream despite the potential harm it might cause you and your parents? Or will you heed your parents' advice and opt for a simpler life?"

“.....I don’t know.”

"That's perfectly okay. A decision as significant as this should be made when you're older and more mature, able to grasp its gravity."

“But, then why did you even play along with me? Did you really think I could do it, or were you just doing it to make me feel better?”

“...I used to have a dream just like you when I was younger.”

“Really? People had dreams back in the 1600’s?”

“You rascal.”

I still remember the feeling of him bear hugging me as he pinched my ear.

“It was just a childish dream. One I had from dumb stories from my dad.”

“What was it?”

“An astronaut.”

“Pft. Did you want to check if the moon was cheese or something?”

“Actually, that was one of the reasons why I wanted to be one.”

“What else made you want to be one?”

“Uhhhh, it’s hard to say. I don’t exactly remember what it was, but I know it had to do with the stars.”

“The stars?”

“I do remember being mesmerized by them as a kid. I would gaze at them for hours.”

“Did you not have friends back then?”

“I did, alright? It was just late, and on the nights where I couldn’t go to sleep, I would stare at them. It felt….calming. Thinking back then, my life always felt rushed. My family moved a lot back then, and I had to switch schools constantly. I made a lot of friends, and lost a lot of them. I had to move into new houses, and just as soon as I would get used to them, my dad would announce a new job opportunity and, right after, we moved. It was tough back then for me. I didn’t really feel like I belonged, and even when we finally stopped moving, it still took a while for me to settle in. But, maybe that’s why I liked looking at the stars so much. No matter where I moved, no matter how different my home was, no matter how many friends I met and lost, the stars would always be there. In the same spot. Looking back at me.”

“So you were lonely.”

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing.”

“Why didn’t you become one then? An astronaut?”

Grandpa sighed heavily, his gaze falling. "It wasn't fear or giving up. Circumstances required me to prioritize. Right after high school, I took the first job I could find to support my family. Years passed, promotions came, and now I'm married with children who have their own children. I never found the time. Even now, I still harbor that desire. I want to reach the moon, to see if the stars are still in that same place. If they’re still looking back at me. But age catches up, and NASA probably isn't hiring seniors. But, that’s why I encouraged you.”

“Me?”

"I want to support you in pursuing your dream, but not without cautioning you about its risks. As I said, even if you don't achieve your dream, there are other paths to happiness. You just need a new perspective. But if you're determined and believe you're strong enough, I'll stand by you as best I can."

I don’t remember what I was thinking back then. Was I happy? Embarrassed? Proud? Can’t remember. But, I do remember what I said.

“Do you think Mom and Dad will understand if I do try to become an adventurer?”

“That’s not up to me. Your mom’s a wild-card. Who knows what she’s possibly thinking of? I still have nightmares back when she was younger.”

“Then, what do I do in the meantime? While I wait and think about my dream. Do I just go to school, and live a normal life?”

“Sure. It’s not bad to have a back-up in case your dream doesn’t go the way you meant it to.”

“Do you think it’s even possible?”

“No one knows, ???. We can’t predict the future. All we can really do is hold our breath, and dive headfirst into the deep ocean called life.”

“That’s not really reassuring.”

".....There comes a moment in every person's life when they must decide whether to wake up and take the first step or remain in blissful reverie. Only after experiencing that reverie can you truly decide whether to pursue your dream or relegate it to mere fantasy."

“Grandpa.”

“Yes?”

“But I like sleeping.”

Grandpa chuckled as he pulled me in with his arm. “So do I. But everyone wakes up at one point.”

He passed away a couple of years later. Prior to his death, we visited him in the hospital where he was battling lung cancer, likely a result of his smoking habits in his youth. His condition had rendered him unable to speak clearly due to lung issues and intense pain in his mouth. The complicated machinery, the sound of urgent beeping, and the smell of death was almost too much for 10 year old me. Grandpa himself was the worst. His hair was almost gone, his eyes barely stayed open, and his skin was as white as milk. When we took our seats, Grandpa gestured for me to come closer with his eyes, unable to physically wave. I approached, and he directed his gaze towards his right hand. I looked and noticed that only his pinky finger was raised; the rest lay limp and emaciated. It was shocking to see how frail he had become. This was the same man who once lifted me high in the air, playing pretend flights to distant jungles. I then stooped down as I gave him my pinky finger. We then made a pinky promise. What was it for? A promise to watch over me in the afterlife? To bless me? Maybe it wasn’t a promise, but perhaps an apology. An apology for not watching me graduate. For not having a beer with me for the first time. For not being at my wedding and cheering for me. For leaving me. Shortly afterwards, Grandpa died. Mom and Dad sobbed over his body, while I just sat down. I didn’t really know what to say or do, so I just quietly cried. I never figured out what he wanted to say to me. Was it an apology? Was it him just reassuring me? Was it good luck to me? I don’t know. But, I do know one thing. Grandpa wasn’t the only thing that died that day. My dream died along with him.