Healing the Inner Child: Episode 1

The Stirring of a Dream

The blazing sunlight poured down as the scent of dust lingered in the air. In front of me, all the bases were loaded, the situation tense. Amid the swirl of pressure and expectation, I stepped up to the plate, my heart pounding as the cheers around me echoed.

That’s when it happened. A voice from behind made me turn. My teammates on the bench were shouting something, but I couldn’t make out the words. The umpire called impatiently, “Step into the batter’s box!” In that moment, I realized—I didn’t have my bat.

Panicking, I started back toward the bench, but it felt like my body had been slowed down, as though I were moving through molasses. Frustration mounted as I pushed my legs forward with all my strength. Finally, I spotted my bat in the corner of the bench. “This should do it,” I thought, grabbing it and heading back to the plate. But my body still felt unbearably heavy.

The more I tried to hurry, the more my legs resisted. Each step felt like an enormous effort, and the weight of my panic grew heavier. When I finally reached the batter’s box, I noticed my hands were empty again.

“A bat?” I turned toward the bench, where my teammates seemed to be shouting louder. I had held the bat just a moment ago, but now it was nowhere to be found. I tried to go back for it again, but my legs remained sluggish and uncooperative. The stares from everyone around me felt like sharp needles, and I broke out in a cold sweat as my frustration peaked.

“Come on!” I wanted to yell, but before I could, I suddenly woke up.

It was just a dream.

The clock by my bed read 5:55 a.m. The faint light of dawn was creeping into the room. I tried to close my eyes again, but the unsettling feeling from the dream lingered, keeping me awake. I gave up, went to the living room, and brewed a cup of coffee. The room was silent, but a vague uneasiness hung in the air.

“This dream again…” I murmured.

This kind of dream, though the setting changed, was one I had periodically. Something vital was always missing, or I was unable to move properly. It was always so frustrating. Though it seemed to be trying to tell me something, its dreamlike absurdity made it hard to decipher. As always, I pushed it aside, letting it fade into the depths of my memory.

Later that morning, my girlfriend and I had plans to go shopping. Last week, she had invited me to join her in picking out a Mother’s Day gift. Since she lost her own mother to illness as a child, she had come to care for my mom like her own. My mother, too, treated her almost like a close friend, and they often went shopping together.

Recalling this brought a smile to my face, and the memory of the dream began to fade. Still, a faint trace of unease lingered in the back of my mind.

At the department store, she led me straight to the art supplies section. Recently, she told me that my mom had mentioned her love of painting. Apparently, they’d discussed it while passing an art museum together. I was surprised—my mom never seemed like the artistic type to me. I even remembered her laughing at one of my clumsy art projects from school, calling it “a hilarious attempt at art.”

After a brief discussion, we quickly decided on a painting set as her gift. However, neither of us knew much about art supplies. “Watercolors? Oil paints? Pastels?” We recognized the terms but had no idea what would be best. Staring at the shelves, we exchanged puzzled looks before deciding to ask a store clerk for help.

The moment we found a clerk, I took charge.

“What’s the difference between these sets?”

“How long do these last with regular use?”

“Are these beginner-friendly?”

Question after question poured out of me. Usually, my girlfriend took the lead in situations like this, but today, I was the one bombarding the clerk with inquiries. My determination grew with each answer—I didn’t want to make a mistake on this gift.

Before I realized it, nearly an hour had passed. After thanking the clerk profusely, I finally selected a set and felt satisfied. My girlfriend, looking a bit surprised, gave a soft laugh.

“I’ve never seen you this serious about choosing something before,” she said.

Her words caught me off guard. I thought this was “normal” behavior, but maybe picking out gifts brought out a different side of me. That thought left an odd but not unpleasant feeling in my chest.

While the clerk prepared our purchase, a child’s cry echoed from the toy section nearby. Glancing over, I saw a little boy throwing a tantrum. His mother tried to calm him, but it seemed he was upset about not getting the toy he wanted.

For some reason, watching them felt like looking at a mirror.

“How come I’m the only one…” A voice from deep within whispered.

Memories of my childhood came flooding back—watching enviously as my friends showed off their new gloves or video games. I clenched my fists, wondering why I was always the one who had to go without. That bitter feeling seemed to resurface, lurking somewhere in my chest.

When we finished checking out, my girlfriend’s cheerful voice brought me back to the present.

“With how much thought you put into it, your mom’s going to love this!”

Her radiant smile caught my eye. She seemed to shine, holding the gift we’d chosen. At that moment, I couldn’t yet imagine the ripples this gift would create in the future.

To Be Continued in Episode 2: “Memories in a Gift”