Last Night’s Dream

Last night, I had a dream that felt so real it stayed with me long after I woke up. It was one of those dreams that seems to blur the lines between reality and fantasy, where every detail feels so vivid, it’s as if the dream is a message from another world.

I was sitting at my desk, drowning in my thoughts. The weight of all my unfinished goals and the constant cycle of self-doubt pressed down on me. The walls seemed to close in—a suffocating reminder of how far behind I felt. My pen lay on the desk, untouched, its presence mocking me, as if it, too, had given up. The pages around me were blank, and I felt stuck in a loop of frustration, too overwhelmed to begin, too scared of failure to try.

In that moment of despair, when I felt as if I couldn’t take another breath, a voice broke through the silence.

“Why are you sitting there?”

I turned around, expecting nothing, but there

he was—Goku. My heart skipped a beat. Goku, the Saiyan warrior I’d admired since I was a child, stood before me.

But this wasn’t the smiling, carefree Goku I’d always seen in the cartoons or imagined in my dreams. This Goku looked different. His orange gi was torn, his face bruised, and his breathing heavy. His usually bright eyes were intense, filled with the weight of countless battles, yet his presence remained unshakable.

He wasn’t just a hero in this moment—he was a symbol of what it meant to never stop fighting.

“I can’t do it,” I muttered,

avoiding his gaze, not sure what to say, not knowing how to express the wave of frustration and hopelessness flooding my chest.

He stepped closer, his tone firm but not unkind.

“Can’t? You think I’ve never felt that?”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Goku had fought against enemies stronger than him, faced impossible odds, and yet, here he was, reminding me that even he had experienced failure.

“Every punch hurts. Every loss stings,” he said, his voice steady. “But giving up? That’s the only real defeat.”

I sat there, stunned, his words reverberating in my mind. He wasn’t lecturing me. He wasn’t scolding me for feeling weak or giving in to doubt. Instead, he was reminding me of who he was—and, more importantly, who I could be.

His battles weren’t just against physical foes. They were against the fear, the doubts, and the limitations he constantly fought to break.

Images of his battles flashed through my mind. I remembered Goku was no stranger to pain, no stranger to failure. But through it all, he never stopped.

“You don’t have to win today,” Goku’s voice softened, the weight of his words settling in. “You just have to fight.”

Those words were a revelation. They weren’t about perfection, about reaching some unreachable ideal. They were about taking the next step, about getting back up every time you fall.

It wasn’t the outcome that mattered, it was the effort, the will to keep going.

I glanced at the pen on my desk. Slowly, I picked it up, its weight no longer heavy but comforting. I started writing—not perfectly, not effortlessly—but with determination. Each word felt like a step forward, each sentence a small victory over the doubts that had held me back for so long. It didn’t matter how the sentences looked on paper. What mattered was that I was moving forward, breaking through the wall I had built around myself.

When I looked up, Goku was gone. But his spirit lingered, a quiet flame burning within me. I couldn’t explain why, but it felt like he had given me a piece of his strength, something that would stay with me long after the dream ended.

I woke up with a sense of clarity that I hadn’t had before. The weight that had pressed on me for so long seemed lighter. Maybe my dream was just a dream, a fleeting moment in the night, but it left me with a truth I couldn’t ignore:

Every failure, every setback, is just part of the training.

I don’t know where this journey will take me, but one thing is certain. No matter how many times I fall, I will rise. I will keep fighting, just like Goku. Because sometimes, that’s all you need to do—to rise and fight, no matter what.