I knew not of dreams. As a child I may have been praised for my drawing and sporting successes but that was only in the form of being better than everyone else. As I grew my parents soon turned their attention towards my academic successes, in maths, english, sciences. I knew not of dreams.

I believe I grew old fast because of this. In my mind was a straight path, to live is to make something of yourself and to make something of yourself is to be successful and to be seen as successful you have to make a lot of money. So I studied business, as all rich people do. I never really cared much for figures, and in reports I never cared much for words. To me, words were just ways to describe the facts, the data and all that was there. So following this line, I went into business as I knew not of dreams.

I worked and worked for years, amounting to a success any adult would agree on by looking at my bank account, everyone I knew saw me as successful. And so it was that I continued this path assured that my life was worth living and that it was worth doing what I did. But I was tired.

I was not one to not enjoy myself, one works hard, one plays hard. I worked a full day monday to friday like any other adult and I went on holidays once a year visiting palces around the world to ease my mind before returning to my routine.

One this particular day however, I decided to try something different, out of my routine. I went and bought an ice-cream and went to eat it at the park. It was a summers afternoon and the sun had not yet set, still blazing the sky a brilliant blue. So I sat there eating my ice-cream watching the clouds roll by until I heard this soft singing before me.

It was a little boy his hair a dark mess, eyes round with innocence and his fingers, dirty with sand. He was playing with the sand that coated the ground of the playground for you see, adults generally worry of children's recklessness and make pre-emptive measures to protect them.

''What are you doing?' I asked the boy

'Singing' he replied without giving me a single glance, still pre-occupied with the mountain of sand he was making.

'What song are you singing?'

'I dunno.'

'If you don't know the song why are you singing it?'

'Because I like to sing' he replied simply. 'What do you like to do mister?'

'Watch TV.' I replied.

'No that is wrong, that is not something you do, what do you like to DO?' he asked again his head shaking disapprovingly.

'Well mister here works so he doesn't have time and energy to do many things.'

'Why do you work?' he asked me curiously.

'Because you need lots of money to eat and drink and be happy.'

'Why?' he asked once more, now giving me his full attention.

Never had I thought about why spending high amounts of money to necessitate costly foods would make me happy as it seemed to be somewhat commonsense in the world in which I resided, a jungle of adults.

'Because all happy things cost money and lots of it and doing many happy things makes you a great person.'

'Singing doesn't cost any money does it?'

'It doesn't I guess...' I reply.

'Okay I'll do that to make me happy, so that makes me a great person too' he had once more withdraw his full attention to me and began once more building his mountain. 'Do you like work?'

'No. But sometimes you need to do things you don't like, that is the adult life.'

'But it doesn't make you happy. Why don't you do something that makes you happy like sing?'

Once more I could not answer the child for in my head I was now challenged with why I was wasting the majority of my time, conducting an activity to induce happiness, a brief happiness. Why was I spending five days a week doing something that would only give me numbers, where the only reason I know I am great, successful is because people tell me it is so? Why did I need to feel it through someone else?

'Luhan dear it's time to go home' the boy's mother called. And as the boy left, I felt as though he took with him all of my success and all of what I thought made me great. I knew not of dreams, but maybe... it was time I learnt.