Dreams do not expire!

From as early as I can remember, my thoughts have been conditioned to "if I succeed at this, then — and only then — will I allow myself that” rule.

As a child, if I wanted something — say, a new toy or book — my parents would often say, “if you score above 80 in your half-yearly exams, then we’ll buy it for you.” I was never a bad student, but the fear of failing and losing my chance to get what I wanted always loomed large. Strangely, by the time I finally got what I longed for, I no longer wanted it. The emotional thread tying me to that object had quietly dissolved.

I’ve always been an intensely curious person. My friends know how colorful and varied my dreams are. One of them (Gogon) once suggested, “Why don’t you keep a diary of your wishes? Call it your ‘Ichchher (wishes) Diary’.” It sounded like a wonderful idea, and I started writing down my little longings. One day, he looked through my diary and chuckled, “You’ve crossed out so many wishes!” I told him that sometimes, when I revisit them, they seem irrational, pointless — so I strike them out. He laughed and said, “Don’t erase them. Let them live, even if they seem pointless.”

Now when I look back, I can see how deeply conditioned I’ve been. There had been a time when my family went through bad financial struggles and for many years. During those moments, even the desire to feel “good” felt luxurious, let alone fulfilling a personal whim. So that’s a different story/ reality. Even when I started earning in my life, I still often would set conditions for my desires. “If I complete this task, then I’ll buy that thing I’ve wanted.” It’s as if desire was never free to exist on its own. It always had to earn its right to be fulfilled. However, I would not say that all dreams went unfulfilled. I’ve managed to complete a few. Still, sometimes I felt guilty for doing so — even when there was no reason for guilt at all.

Recently, all these thoughts resurfaced when I bought a simple wooden box of colors. A decade-old wish of mine — to own a large wooden art box with drawers filled with different kinds of paints. I love to paint. I used to draw more when I was younger. A couple of weeks ago, I found the box of colors — and it was on sale, 50% off. I didn’t hesitate. I bought it. Now, I sometimes walk around the house holding it, and the joy I feel is immeasurable, reaching skies and beyond.

Sometimes, when we unlock the window of long-forgotten desires — the ones we shut tight and loose the key to, not out of negligence, but out of quiet surrender — it’s hard to stop what comes next. Now, as I write all this, I can feel a quiet flood of unfulfilledness rising within me. It is as if if you pull out one thread, suddenly a whole fabric of yearning begins to unravel.

And so, another moment rises to the surface — another unfulfilled desire: owning a bicycle. I’ve never had one. Maybe a three-wheeler in early childhood, though I have no memory of it. But deep inside, I always carried a vision: me on a bicycle, hair flying in the wind, a little basket with flowers in front, and a jute hat on my head. So vivid, so specific.

When I came to Sweden and saw that everyone cycles, I should have felt at home in that vision. But instead of nurturing this decade-old image —I kept telling myself, “I have legs. I don’t need a bike” Once again, logic prevailed.

Until a few days ago — when I saw someone selling a cycle, perfect for my petite height. I told myself, “even if I have to skip meals for days, I’m buying this bike.” And I did. It was not just a purchase. It was a quiet reclaiming of a long-silenced wish.

At the end of the day, what I’m trying to express is this: we often dismiss our own desires, labeling them as “just hobbies” or “non-essential”. We tuck them away in the quiet corners of our minds — neglected, unwatered, untouched by light. Sometimes we peek at them only to slam the door shut again. We say ourselves it’s not the right time, or worse. But time and opportunity don’t knock forever. When they arrive, it’s okay to say yes. Who wants to go to the grave with regrets, but with a quiet, content heart. Because really, what do we gain by waiting for permission to be happy?