Dreamcatcher-part2: dreams beyond the valley

Two years passed.

One morning, the same heavy air pressed down on her small body as she woke up drenched in sweat. Everything was the same: two boiled eggs shared between five mouths, the old fan without a cover, the worn mattress covered in dust, the radio humming from next door, her baby brother crying, and her mother’s tired voice repeating the same worries as always. But that morning, something inside her broke.

“Mom,” she said softly, “can I quit school? I want to work. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

Her mother froze. Her face turned red, hands trembling. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached for the bamboo stick. The first strike landed hard on the girl’s back. “The world out there will hit you harder than this!” her mother shouted between sobs. “It will hurt more than this! Now put on your uniform and go to school.”

The girl—fourteen now—stood still for a moment, staring at her mother. Then she took a deep breath, hugged her tightly, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean it. I’ll go to school now. There’s sports practice today, so I’ll be home late.”

She picked up the old school bag she had packed the night before and stepped outside. Her friend’s rusty motorbike was already waiting. She hopped on, turning her head for one last look at the small, weathered house. Rain from last night’s storm still soaked the dirt floor. Her mother was getting ready for work, her face still wet with tears. Two little sisters stood trembling beside her, and her two-year-old brother cried on the old bed. The girl closed her eyes, took a breath, and told herself—today is the day everything will change.

Do you want to know what happened next?

Do you want to know how that little girl, who once dreamed of leaving an 800-kilometer distance behind, ended up writing her own story from the other side of the world—a place people call New Zealand?

That dream she had at twelve… it has taken her not just 800 kilometers, but 9,600. And now, sitting in a quiet room surrounded by the green hills of Aotearoa, she writes this story—the story of the flower that bloomed in the valley.

The sound of the old motorcycle slowly faded as it rolled away from the rain-soaked house — the small home that had been her world for fourteen years.

As they passed through the familiar corners of the village, every sight carried a memory: the rice fields where she played as a child, the small shop where her grandmother bought rice, the dusty path that led to school.

Three kilometers later, they rode past the school where her classmates were running up the stairs, laughing and shouting before the morning bell. One friend waved and yelled, “Hurry up! You’re going to be late!”

But she made her decision. She whispered to her best friend, who had been with her since they were five, “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

By noon, 18 kilometers away from home, two fourteen-year-old girls sat at an old bus station covered in dust. “Do you remember what we said?” she asked. “That one day, we’d leave and chase a better future together?”

Their plan was simple but brave — to hitch a ride on a long-distance bus heading to Bangkok, the capital city they had only ever seen on TV. The journey would take eight hours, almost 800 kilometers from the only place they’d ever known.

When they counted their small savings from odd jobs, it wasn’t nearly enough. So they pleaded with the bus driver, telling him their story with trembling voices. The man sighed, then nodded — he couldn’t say no. He let them sit in the front beside him, squeezed together on the wide seat, where the window wouldn’t close and hot wind blew against their faces.

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Based on a true story