Somewhere in Moravia, Sometimes in summer 2019


Last July, I attended the wedding of my cousin. I adore weddings. Love is in the air, all of us overdress only to be nervous about it later and giggle while staring at each other’s kinky lipstick colors and earrings.

All went well, the touching ceremony in the park of a nearby castle followed by the lunch and the party. I enjoyed talking to my younger cousins and generally to the part of my family I do not see so often as they live in Italy.

There were all those necessary wedding moments like cake-cutting, speeches, breaking plates, delicious food, live music, empty dance floor (before the drinks were served).

Then the party started. I did not plan it, though I ended up at the loudest table of the friends of the bride. Especially the brother of the bride is that cheerful, inclusive, just nice kind of person, so I somehow stayed.

A couple of gins & tonics later: I was chatting at the bar with one guy. He was not from around. He seemed the intelligent yet not the pushy I-know-it-all type. He said what he does. I said what I do. We were both nicely impressed by each other and went on talking. He told me he once had that big-love relationship that ended. I said: Same here. He said he is with that girl (pointed at smart-looking blond just passing us by) because she seems ok and she gives him space (whatever he meant by it).

I told him about my dream. I do not know what I expected. Maybe burst of laughter, because I might dream too big (as Florence and the Machine sings in her South London Forever). He listened, paused and then said: I also have dreams. And he told me. I forgot his dream. I am committed now to be more attentive to other people’s dreams.

Do you know what people around you really dream about?

Then he said what struck me most. “Do you realize that 99 percent of people here do not have any dreams? “ I remember we both paused and looked around. Slow-motion of drunk grimaces, big smiles, jokes being told, sweaty faces. I felt special. What he told me made me feel special. For the very short moment, I felt like I am special because I have my dreams and they, oh poor they, they just have their ordinary presence and that is it.

I was wrong.

In the Czech Republic, they teach us: Do not talk about your dreams otherwise they might not come true.

How do you treat dreams in your country?

So in my country, we do not talk about dreams, unless slightly drunk strangers meet at the bar, knowing their life trajectories will probably never bring them together again.

Why is it that it is so much easier to tell your dreams to a stranger?

Anyway… Dear Stranger, I do not believe other people do not have dreams. You know why? Because if I have them, they must have them too. Why? Because not talking about something does not necessarily mean that this something does not exist. The dreams might go forgotten  for quite a long time by those bills we have to pay and ordinary things we need to attend to, though once you dreamed the dream, you cannot un-dream it so easily. The aftertaste remains even if you are fully woken up.

What are your dreams in this very moment under those very circumstances?