Nargis Kachrumathur

Although the complexity of dreams may forever remain one of life’s unsolved mysteries, it stands to remind us of the fascinating capabilities of our subconscious.

Like the famously abstract pop singer Billie Eilish asked in one of her songs, “When we all fall asleep, where do we go?” 

I'm sure many of us have wondered why we dream. There is ambiguity among researchers about the purpose of dreams, but they are generally known to aid our emotional, mental, and physical health, and they have social and cultural meaning as well. As someone who knew next to nothing about this topic, I always felt my dreams were a surreal amalgamation of the main things I experienced in the day. While my friends and I occasionally mused about the purpose and causes of them, I never dug deeper into the scientific details. Those rare conversations often just dissolved into fits of laughter over animated retellings of our most eccentric dreams. Now that I have had the opportunity to delve into the specifics of dreaming, the biology student in me marvels at the psychologically enigmatic nature of our brain activity once we go to sleep. And although the complexity of dreams may forever remain one of life’s unsolved mysteries, it stands to remind us of the fascinating capabilities of our subconscious.

That’s not to say that we know nothing — science has, over the years, brought quite a lot about dreaming to light. People have different kinds of dreams based on the stage of sleep they are in. Scientifically speaking, one can dream at any point in the sleep cycle, but the most vivid dreams occur in the rapid eye movement (REM) stage, when the brain is most active. The REM cycle, which happens more and more often as the night goes on, consists of high levels of eye motion and can cause us to have odd, specific dreams. Usually there is little muscle activity and voluntary muscles are paralyzed during the REM cycle, proving that it is the deepest stage of sleep. Since the frontal lobe is inactive during dreams, they are devoid of logic or reasoning and can manifest in the most bizarre ways. Furthermore, emotion in dreams is triggered by the limbic system, of which the amygdala is the most responsible for strong and often negative feelings. The three other stages of sleep are non-REM, one that follows sleep onset and elicits dreams of falling, and the other two that trigger short dreams related to recent events. These range from early in the night to throughout the duration of sleep, with low eye and muscle activity. As most things do, dream frequency and content vary from person to person. They are affected by factors such as strength of memory, age, and how one is woken up. Older people are less likely to remember things after waking up, and being interrupted in the middle of sleep by an alarm or person, rather than waking up naturally, leaves the dream fresh in one’s mind. The linkage of memory to dreams has been studied, concluding that dreaming aids in permanently storing memories. 

Strangely enough, we are sometimes conscious of our dreams in a state called lucid dreaming, which stems from an increase in activity in parts of the brain that are usually restful during sleep. These dreams exist in a liminal space between sleeping and waking, and can be modified and engineered by the dreamer. From the perspective of a frequent lucid dreamer, I can say that the plot of my dreams isn’t always created by me, but I often can maneuver them in the direction that I want. Something that I still can’t fully get used to is that often, when I am awoken from a lucid dream, it does not feel like I have slept at all, rather that the dream was just another part of my active, waking life. That’s what it feels like to be in a lucid dream, one where the dreamer takes charge — much like the agency you have over your body when you’re conscious — rather than letting their subconscious control them. Studies have indicated that this occurs in people with a bigger prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that controls decision making and memories. These people are usually overthinkers, or very self-reflective, and hence are most likely to create their own storyline in dreams. Moreover, lucid dreaming can be therapeutic, increase fine motor skills and creativity, and also promote better problem-solving skills. However, it can also have a negative impact on quality of sleep, and could be harmful for those with mental health disorders by causing delirium or hallucinations. 

One may think that, due to low muscle activity during sleep, these events can only take place inside our heads. However, humans move around in their sleep as well, some on a slightly more advanced level than just tossing and turning during nightmares. Sleepwalking, also known as parasomnia and formerly known as somnambulism, is a relatively common affliction that manifests largely in children. While I never had a personal experience with it, I did read author Enid Blyton’s Malory Towers and St Clare’s books growing up, so I always had a rather comical view of sleepwalking. The description of sleepwalkers in the books was spooky — glassy eyes and a zombie-like gait — but the light-hearted and comedic portrayal of them was what stuck. However, sleepwalking can actually be injurious to one’s mental and physical health, as well as to that of people around sleepwalkers during an episode. Handling sharp objects, trying to drive a vehicle, and exhibiting violent behavior can be life-threatening, while urinating in inappropriate places or having aggressive outbursts leads to embarrassment. This could cause trauma to partners, roommates, and family members, or even go as far as to hurt them. There are numerous factors that cause sleepwalking, including genetics, sleep deprivation, brain injury, stress, and others. Although preventative measures for some of these are obvious, others may require a visit to the doctor or behavioral therapist. Methods to minimize harm done by and to sleepwalkers include locking doors and windows, removing tripping hazards from the floor, and keeping sharp objects hidden or out of reach. 

But why should we have all the limelight? In this anthropocentric world, it may be common to think that humans are the only species advanced and complex enough to dream, but animals experience the phenomenon as well. Scientists at MIT “recorded the activity of neurons in a part of the rat brain called the hippocampus, a structure known to be involved in the formation and encoding of memories.” Through this study they found a resemblance between the pattern of the way the rats’ neurons fired while they were running in mazes and in their dreams. Biologists from the University of Chicago discovered something similar in a species of bird called zebra finches, who learn and develop their ability to carry a tune. The research depicted that their brain activity while asleep matched that of when they sing. There was a slightly more experimental study carried out by French neuroscientist Michel Jouvet and his team in the 1960s. They inhibited the mechanism in a cat’s brain that prevents movement during sleep, and observed the felines performing actions that they would in a wakeful state, which indicates that they were dreaming of those things. Of course, much about these findings is still very inconclusive, such as answers to questions like, “Do animals remember their dreams as dreams when they're shaken out of their sleep? Can they distinguish the real world from the one in their dreams?”. It is impossible to know what the experience of dreams truly is to beings that are not human, especially when sometimes our own dreams are enough to confound us. 

As a whole, the concept of dreams is a thrilling and enigmatic one. Some people are superstitious and interpret hidden meanings in dreams that translate to their real lives. Other people may not dream at all, or simply see dreams as biological phenomena. They have been dubbed a method of “unconscious thinking,” which raises the question of how much we are inevitably controlled by forces that don’t stem from our free will. The question still remains: “When we all fall asleep, where do we go?”  The only answer I can give is that we go wherever our minds take us.

Aristotle. "On Sleep and Sleeplessness." Translated by J. I. Beare. Written 350 B.C.E. http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/sleep.html

Burke, Carolyn. "What Happens in the Brain When We Dream?" BrainWorld, July 31, 2019. https://brainworldmagazine.com/what-happens-in-the-brain-when-we-dream/.

Cohut, Maria. "Lucid Dreaming: Controlling the Stories of Sleep." MedicalNewsToday, July 27, 2020. https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/323077.

Eilish, Billie. WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?, Darkroom/ Interscope Records, 2019. Spotify, https://open.spotify.com/album/0S0KGZnfBGSIssfF54WSJh?si=wVKJEiNhQkGe7De027YgFg.

Goldman,  Jason G. BBC Future, April 25, 2014. https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20140425-what-do-animals-dream-about.

Hurt, Avery. "A Glimpse Inside the Mind of Dreaming Animals." Discover Magazine, Jan 20, 2021. https://www.discovermagazine.com/mind/a-glimpse-inside-the-mind-of-dreaming-animals

Langley, Liz. "Do Animals Dream?" National Geographic, September 5, 2015. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/culture/article/150905-animals-sleep-science-dreaming-cats-brains

Marks, Hedy. "Dreams." WebMD, November 05, 2021. https://www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/dreaming-overview#:~:text=Dreams%20can%20happen%20at%20any,to%20six%20times%20a%20night.

Martins, Kris. "Lucid Dreams." WebMD, August 14, 2022. https://www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/lucid-dreams-overview

Rand, Paul. "Do Animals Dream? with David M. Peña-Guzmán." Big Brains Podcast. UChicago News, July 21, 2022. https://news.uchicago.edu/do-animals-dream-david-m-pena-guzman#:~:text=But%20rather%2C%20they%20dream%20of,this%20particular%20animal%20has%20had.

Spencer, Rebecca M. C. "The Science of Dreams." Frontiers for Young Minds, December 18, 2019. https://kids.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/frym.2019.00140. 

Suni, Eric. "Sleepwalking: What is Somnambulism?" Sleep Foundation, October 7, 2022. https://www.sleepfoundation.org/parasomnias/sleepwalking. 

"Dream Analysis." GoodTherapy, February 2, 2016. https://www.goodtherapy.org/learn-about-therapy/types/dream-analysis. 

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Nargis Kachrumathur explores the science of dreams.

When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?

Onkar Borde

I still remember the way my grandma narrated the stories of  the Ramayana and Mahabharata, some of the most popular mythological legends, when we used to sleep on the roof on hot summer nights.

There was something about the stories which excited my soul, or maybe my grandma was just so skilled in her narration of these legends!

These ancient stories usually began with a king. Some bad guys might trouble the good king and try to destabilize the administration. The villains torture the good people. Finally, the story usually introduces a savior, who fights the nasty guys. In the end, the good king typically wins the war because of his altruistic deeds.

These stories were awesome and always helped whenever I did not feel like sleeping. The stories also indirectly motivated me to be a good boy, like Rama of the Ramayana, a prince who had sacrificed his kingdom and spent 14 years in exile just to fulfill his father’s request. He was honest, polite, and obedient. The stories reflected what an ideal human is like: honest, polite, positive, and kind, a human whose presence makes everyone feel comfortable. They also created a mindset that helped me to differentiate the good from  the bad.

These stories revolved around notions of good and evil. They spoke of karma, consequences, and god. I remember the way I was told about the evil child-eater witch who used to kidnap the children who did not finish their dinner or listen to their parents! And the story of King Harishchandra, an honest and virtuous king who was known for his good deeds and whose tales are still present in our English books! King Harishchandra had sacrificed his kingdom, his family, and his only son just to provide the sage Vishwamitra with compensation (dakshina) for disturbing his meditation.

This was a pretty complicated concept for a fifth grader like me back then.

That was when I was a child. Now, since I have started to interpret and learn the meaning of life, I am able to better understand why we were told such stories. It was all for one sole purpose: to nurture us, and to develop a sense of disgust when we thought of doing something bad. The stories seemed to create a barrier that prohibited me from getting into bad things. Every story reflected how evil people suffer in the end, and the mere thought of those tortures ensures I do not follow the unholy path of negativity and rage. These stories helped to encourage good manners. They infused honesty, confidence, bravery, positivity and many more qualities in me.

History lessons are boring indeed, but when we combine them with a good storyline, our perspective suddenly changes! The historic events now look like volumes of a story and begin to feel interesting. The reason behind this is the way one communicates with others.

Stories can be described as a medium of engaging communication, where good beliefs and good manners are transferred from the mind of the narrator to the mind of the listener. The stories remain longer in our minds than a boring philosophical lecture on life. For me, stories are an essential way of learning life lessons. They give me a literal idea of what exactly good and bad are and what happens when I make certain choices. The skill to distinguish between potentially harmful and safe things can be hard to understand. I think stories have helped me to master it. 

These ancient mythological legends have also helped me to understand the state of true peace and satisfaction, such as that which King Rantideva received when he donated his own meal to a hungry person, or like what the sage Dadhichi felt after sacrificing his own body to provide the gods with bones to make an immortal weapon to win the war.

Apart from gaining extraordinary and exquisite wisdom through stories, I have felt a wave of creativity flow through me. I have now started to perceive my environment in a very different way. The images of the blind woodcutter who suffered due to cutting down trees flash before me when I try to pluck a leaf off a plant, just for some fun. The stories of the Panchatantra have improved my life as well. These are engrossing stories related to nature and animals. These fables have taught me some great values and morals, which would have been pretty hard to learn on my own without any painful lessons. 

Stories are magical indeed! Ancient tales and stories have been a great torch that have guided me and given this unshaped clay of my life the shape of a well-built pot, which stores values and life lessons to be passed on further. The tales of the heroes of the past have influenced me to mimic them and behave like a hero, honest, full of confidence, and ready to sacrifice anything. The stories have taught me how to resist evil and hail good deeds. Passed from generation to generation in my community, they have helped us all to live a stable and peaceful life, one which has a concrete purpose with well-known potential harms.

Desires: they can be considered a deadly factor of destruction that consume every bit of happiness out of a human being. But when one is able to dig in and explore beneath the surface, we find that desires and urges are one of the major life forces which are able to give direction and provide what we call an aim to one's life!

Just like a goldsmith turns a heap of gold into a beautiful ornament, the stories, experiences, and incidents I have witnessed have shaped my life and helped me to grow the desire to follow the path of honesty and to be a sterling human, whose presence is admired. I feel as if there are some important life lessons engraved somewhere inside these stories. These are then passed from generation to generation to maintain the equilibrium of our human minds and, ultimately, to provide enlightenment.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Onkar Borde explains how stories from his heritage have shaped his desire to become a kind and helpful person.

Eat Your Food — Or Else the Witch Eats You!

Mahnoor Ali Pervaiz

The dream was always to graduate, but now that it’s not so far away, I have mixed emotions — the joy and excitement are there, but they are overpowered by fear of the unknown.

Individuals are shaped by defining moments and recollections of different experiences throughout their journeys through life; their minds are programmed to set long-term goals they dream of achieving. 

But what happens when the end is near? When the battle is almost won and their dream is about to become a reality, what thoughts run through their minds? What do they desire next? 

From a very young age, I have seen the seniors graduate from my prestigious institute. The first graduation parade I remember is from kindergarten. With streamers in her hands, Little Mahnoor watched the unfamiliar faces in white run through the gates, grinning, singing, and dancing, stepping foot into their school for the last time as students. Although I didn’t have an idea of what was happening then, apart from having heard the word graduation, it became my dream to one day be one of those young ladies, embarking on the next voyage of life, a pearl leaving its shell to enter a whole new world. 

Years have passed since. More graduations followed. Soon, unfamiliar faces turned into familiar ones: people I had heard of, those I had worked with, acquaintances and friends. However, my dream of graduating stayed steadfast in its place as one of my deepest desires. With the passage of time, I failed to realize that I was slowly becoming one of the older girls. 

Now, I am just one academic year away from my own graduation, and some of my closest friends graduate in a few months. I no longer have to wear a uniform to school or be there for the whole day. I find myself at a crossroads. I attach new meanings to the songs played at the graduation parade, I listen more closely to their words. 

“Leave me to my destiny, I have waited patiently,” sang Right Said Fred. This lyric stands out because it not only brings feelings of nostalgia but also emphasizes the work it took for me to get to where I am now. My peers and I studied, passed tests, participated in competitions, and worked together, as we grew, to get to where we are today.We worked to one day achieve the desire birthed in our hearts since we saw our first graduation parade, to fulfill our dream. Our goals in life motivate us to work towards a better destiny, to achieve what we want; this motivation comes from our deeper desire to meet the bar set by the adults in our lives. This song brings me joy, not only because I associate it with so many memories over the past 16 years of my life but also because I associate it with the hope of one day reaching a place in my journey that I have dreamed of for years. 

When I was younger, I used to wonder what happened at the graduation dinner after the parade; my thoughts would run wild, coming up with the most elaborate ideas, but now I know what happens. At first every hurdle that I would have to face seemed so complex, so overwhelming; now that I have overcome so many of them, the ones that once seemed impossible to achieve seem so straightforward in comparison to the rest of my life. The dream was always to graduate, but now that it’s not so far away, I have mixed emotions — the joy and excitement are there, but they are overpowered by fear of the unknown. The dream itself is a final goodbye to being a child, marking the end of the first part of my learning journey.

Up until now, everything in life has been planned for me, even my dreams shaped by my education. My deepest desire — something that has been a huge part of my life since I gained consciousness — is now arriving.​ 

Now I realize there is life beyond graduation, a life I haven’t thought about, one that isn’t planned for me by adults looking out for me; a life in which I will be the captain of my own ship. I will have to make my own decisions, set my own desires, and work to achieve my dreams and goals myself. The thought of having control is so much more exhilarating when you don’t know what it fully entails. My dreams and desires have now morphed, from wanting to graduate to wanting school to last a little bit longer, to get into a college, get a job — the list is endless. My deepest desire has gone from wanting to be one of the older girls, to wanting to be one of the younger ones, a perfectly full circle but, alas, that is not how life works.

I only have one more year of school left, and there is nothing I can do about it. Time does not stop; I will never be able to go back to being that little five year old girl, with the world in the palm of her hands. I will never be able to relive the moment I saw those girls run through the gates, when my eyes began to twinkle and I formed a memory that drove me for so many years and will drive me for one more. However, I can do something better. In May 2024, I can sing the lyrics, “Tonight, we are young, so let’s set the world on fire” with pride, knowing that I lived out little Mahnoor’s dream and I have so much more to look forward to. 

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Mahnoor Ali Pervaiz reflects on how a treasured dream morphed over the course of her life.

Beginnings Are a Eulogy for an End

Lily Wang

Is our ability to dream a blessing or a curse? It is on this perfectly rational and sensible question that Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is built.

The film depicts an insane adventure befitting its title. The movie's premise is not entirely original — our once-again hero, Dr. Stephen Strange, must once again save the world from being destroyed… once again — but this tried-and-true format has rendered numerous entertaining pictures, and this is one of them. The conflict of the movie centers around a teen named America Chavez, who possesses the ability to travel between parallel worlds (the multiverse). The unlikely antagonist, Wanda Maximoff, who also goes under the pseudonym Scarlet Witch, has the Darkhold, which enables her to find her lost family in another universe. She seeks to harness America’s powers and, thus, kill her in hopes of journeying across the multiverse to reunite with her family. Stephen Strange must save the girl and protect the world from Wanda's abuse of power.

So begins the witty dialogue, the air of arrogance, and the fighting of giant monocular octopuses, all appropriate continuations of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU). The film is laced with Marvel jargon that only diehard fans can fully appreciate. In fact, the expansion of the franchise, now with TV shows on Disney+, has become one of the main points of criticism. Too much preparation is required to catch up with the ever-expanding universe. To understand this movie, you might want to re-watch the 2016 Doctor Strange and stream WandaVision, the TV series that sets the backdrop of Wanda's character development. Throw in Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, two atypically long movies, for good measure, and you're good to go — that is, if you want to be in on the many Easter eggs and inside jokes. As a Marvel enthusiast who cannot afford Disney+, I find that you do not need to be a dedicated fan to appreciate the film's overall themes.

Ultimately, the movie revolves around the notion of dreams. Through dreams, we can reach different worlds, much like travelling through the multiverse. Strange is haunted by his dreams. Before encountering America, he experiences a nightmare in which an evil version of himself gratuitously sacrifices her in battle. Little does he know this alternative villain-Strange exists beyond his imagination and is lurking in a corner of the multiverse like all other versions of him. As he travels across each reality, he finds that every Strange is destined for the same bleak end. Despite not being spell-casting sorcerers, the audience can understand this sense of hopelessness. As a highschooler, I share his reproach for determinism. I am constantly told I have the power to change the course of my future, that my decisions make a difference, that I am not confined to a single path. I think this holds true for everyone. We move through life by making decisions that branch off into different possibilities. We believe that we have the ability to create a better, brighter future. How cruel would it be to find out they all lead to the same place?

Wanda, however, faces an entirely opposite set of challenges. To her, dreams offer escape from reality. She is so consumed by her loss that she attempts to fabricate a new life for herself and, in doing so, becomes malevolent. “Every night, the same dream, and every morning the same nightmare,” she says as she gazes into portals displaying her sons from other universes. Many scenes unabashedly reveal the extent of her grief, the most memorable being an apple orchard, which withers into an expanse of decaying trees, illuminated by the red gloom of the sky. I believe Wanda is one of the most dimensional villains in cinema. Rather than greed, Wanda is an antagonist driven by grief. As the Scarlet Witch, Elizabeth Olsen does the impossible. Simultaneously unfeeling and despairing, repressed and rampant, we can look past her villainous façade and see a woman destroyed by the loss. “I'm not a monster. I'm a mother,” she tells us and, perhaps, assures herself. In this character lies a cautionary tale: we may lose ourselves if we dwell too much in our dreams.

The extent of Wanda’s suffering justifies the gore and barbarity of MCU’s first ever horror film. It compliments the rather “horrifying” prospect of losing everything that you love. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Dappling in this new genre certainly raises the level of excitement, or trepidation, depending on how much you enjoy exploding heads and shredded limbs. A purposeful artistic choice or an excuse to experiment with fresh elements, I commend director Sam Raimi for introducing us to this darker side of Marvel. The horror, and indeed the film, would flatline without the spectacular and breathtaking visuals by the editing team. So much detail is put into every realm the characters enter that their world, so brilliantly fantastical, becomes almost tangible. With each multiverse, as cities dissipate into ash, faces fragment, and planets shatter, I am convinced that the convulsing, imploding universe is going mad. 

Madness can be caused by dreaming. Without dreams, Strange may never accept his fate. Without dreams, Wanda may never become evil.  Each dreamlike experience has the potential to turn nightmarish and vice versa. The film leaves us to ponder the consequences of dreams long after the credits roll. Overall, the film can be enjoyed by teens and adults alike. Young children beware (remember, exploding heads and shredded limbs). I thoroughly enjoyed its stunning visuals, evocative characters, and entertaining storyline. However, I think the movie could have provided greater focus on Doctor Strange’s character development,  and the plot could have been tweaked to rely less on previous films. Though far from perfection, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is a fantastic addition to the MCU, which is why I give it four out of five stars.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Lily Wang reviews Marvel's newest Doctor Strange movie.

A Review of Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness

Liz Fabiola

Who says we can’t help to change the world and fulfill our dreams when we are kids? 

Since I was 10 years old, my biggest dream has been to help change the world. At that time, I didn’t know how to do it. That same year in October, a girl arrived at my school and told us that she was a volunteer from a foundation called Super Kids, where children from 8 to 12 years old are trained to teach reading and writing to younger children or their peers in different schools. Before leaving, she left some invitations for the teacher to give to interested people, and one of those people was me.

In January 2019, I joined Super Kids and started going to training. In March of the same year, I started as a volunteer to teach at a school. On the first day, in the morning I had two students and I remember one was very friendly and talkative and the other one was very shy; she didn’t want to talk and had some difficulty learning. It was hard for her to answer the questions I asked her, and that made me feel a little anxious. I was afraid that she wouldn't talk to me and she wouldn’t learn anything because I didn’t know how to get her to  interact during the teaching activities, but then I remembered that I had my teachers who helped me at all times, and so the fear passed a little.    

Every day we learned a new letter and, when they learned all the vowels and some consonants (m, n, l, p, s, etc.), we began to form syllables and words with what we had already learned. A few weeks later we made much more progress: Fatima and Janet already read and wrote much better and no longer confused the letters, which made me feel very proud of all the effort the three of us had put in. We practiced reading story books and sometimes we competed to write words from different categories, such as animals, things, names, surnames, countries, and more. The game was called “tutti frutti,” and the girls loved to play it because it was so much fun. In recent months, I prepared a game that had drawings and syllables taped to a piece of large white paper. The girls had to peel off the syllables, combine them to form the name of the drawings, and paste them underneath. The girls loved this game and, most importantly, they learned new words in a fun way. 

The girls taught me to never give up, because every time they failed, they didn’t give up and tried again until they succeeded. They taught me to strive to get what I want, and that despite all the setbacks we encounter along the way, the important thing is to get up and try again until we achieve our goal. All of this made me feel very lucky for the opportunity I had to meet these great girls. I think they were pleased with their achievements and everything they did in the course of the lessons. 

On one of my last days, the girls’ teacher told me and my teacher that they both had made wonderful progress and that they were encouraged to come forward to read a text. The most wonderful thing was knowing that they did very well; that made me feel very proud of them and lucky to have made an impact in their lives. To know that this shift will help them in their education is amazing.

When you have a big dream and you think you won’t make it because you’re too young, it’s better not to think about your age, because there is no minimum age to fulfill your dreams. We make decisions about questions like, “What am I going to do today that would change the world?” In my case, I want to change kids’ lives, but actually they are changing mine. And when you make those decisions, everything becomes less complicated for you and those you are helping. The only thing you need every day to make your dreams come true is the desire to do it and have a positive mindset that tells you there is nothing and no one that can stop you — because it is your life, your dreams, and your decisions. No one can change that. 

After teaching in the schools, I realized that, together with my teachers and classmates from Super Kids, we are making a change in the world by teaching children to read and write. We are demonstrating that, although we are children, we can also teach and do things that some believe only adults can do.

If you want to improve the world, don’t hesitate to add your grain of sand to make the world a better place and create a better future for everyone. It is worth gold, and no one can argue that each one of us can make small changes every day. Small as our actions seem, they are worth a lot as long as they help to change the world for the better.

In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Liz Fabiola shares how her dream of making a difference came true at a young age.

Kids Can Change the World, Too

Patryk Karpowicz

My thoughts behind the fog, like the clouds in the sky
They flow . . . I see myself in them
My joys and sorrows, sometimes big and sometimes small,
Shapely or without expression, like me untamed, colorful . . .
They paint the soul of my painting.

Each cloud is one dream
A little thought, a short moment — a memory
Fleeting as a cloud of steam
It passes . . . so I don't believe it.

Each thought is one dream, and there are thousands of them
They roll in my head like a hot volcano
I want to catch one, but I can't — the lava is burning
But the volcano does not always erupt . . . 
So I can probably dream?

"God, let me dream — big or small 
Speak to me in what I see.
And then demand from me what you want."

"Stop dreaming! Stop dreaming!"
Screamed those who had no dreams.
Some who dreamed too big for their soul,
Took fright and buried them long ago.

Remember, Dreamer!
Do not listen to the voice of many,
Listen to yourself, and you will discover
That when you dream, you live.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Patryk Karpowicz implores us to embark on flights of fancy and embrace our dreams.

Dreams Like Clouds in the Sky

Iman Monnoo

The beauty of dreams is that they are ephemeral — ever changing and transient to match how  our personalities and thoughts evolve.

Who are we without our dreams and desires? 

When I was six years old, my mother took me to a Qawwali night1 at my cousin’s wedding for the first time. Barely three feet tall and stumbling around in my shiny green chiffon dress, I  remember stooping down amidst a sea of people to feel the ground pulsating beneath my feet.  

The beat drummed through every inch of bone from the tips of my toes to my mini milk teeth.  All at once, I became a part of the melody. From that moment on, music became my obsession:  an insatiable hunger, a thirst I could never quench. I guzzled notes as if they were bits of coco  puffs, inhaled the lyrics of Taylor Swift’s “Love Story,” and sped through chords on my little  electronic keyboard as if they were sugarcoated gumdrops. By age nine, I was convinced I would  become a musician.  

Life hit fast. All of a sudden, I had outgrown my green chiffon and been forced into suit pants,  hair neatly tied for the interviews I had to attend, with the only music in my life becoming the  pieces I memorized for examinations or nothing more than background noise while I did my  homework.  

As I blew out the candles on my 17th birthday cake, it struck me how malleable life’s course can be. My dream of becoming a musician now lay abandoned in the dusty keys of  an old piano, in the polaroids my mother had stored in an unmarked box in the attic, in the songs I no longer remembered the words to. In its place, I found pages and pages of poetry. A desire to write filled the notebooks I received on my birthdays until eventually there was more paper than floor in my bedroom. A new dream in place of the old one.  

The beauty of dreams is that they are ephemeral — ever changing and transient to match how our personalities and thoughts evolve. Perhaps that is why we are so influenced by them. As  humans, we are attracted by the light at the end of the tunnel, willing to scrape and claw our way  through heaps of dirt to get there, and upon finding what we seek, are instantly entranced by the next shiny thing. By nature then, I would argue that dreams are the essence of what makes us who we are. In fact, humans thrive on the ability to dream — every invention, from the lightbulb to the steam engine, came out of the desire to create something extraordinary. Even hope in times of crisis becomes a manifestation of one’s desires for a better life, or one’s dream of what life could  be.  

To then consider a life in the absence of our dreams and desires, I find myself at an impasse.  When human existence pivots on accomplishing a lifelong goal or seeing a dream become reality, it seems that having no desires at all would be like sailing a ship with no steering wheel: you have no idea where you are going or where you will end up. You are not yourself without your ambitions and your wants. In the words of Langston Hughes, “Hold fast to your dreams, for  without them life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.”  

Ultimately, our dreams and desires intrinsically make up who we are and represent us as we shift into different phases of our lives: my desire to write poetry has morphed into a love for the  literary arts, much in the same way my love for piano has made it impossible to study without  music on in the background. It is these little pockets of joy from dreams long left behind  that form our identity.

1 Qawwali night refers to a festive celebration in South / Middle Eastern culture where people come together to sing songs. 

In a KidSpirit Big Question article, teen writer Iman Monnoo asks who we are without our dreams and desires.

Birds With Broken Wings Cannot Fly

Soniru Dilith Koswatta

The sky was tinted a lovely orange upward from the horizon. 

The orange faded away into a pale yellow spread until the blue, getting slowly lighter, covered the rest of the sky. The bottoms of the clouds high above were brushed with a soft red color.  A row of tall trees stood against the orange-colored sky, spreading their branches shaded with black. Two little sparrows flew above them, dived into the midst of a tree, and disappeared. Their topmost leaves glimmered bright red. How he wished, as he knelt gazing, that he could put those colors onto a canvas — 

The minute arm, long and black, slowly ticked to twelve. 

The window came back and closed with a sudden crash, and the curtain drew itself across the window, blocking the sight.

He stayed there kneeling by the window in the darkness. The curtain was so thick that most of the light was blocked out. There was a large black bolted door beside the window, and on the other side was a small bed laid over with a bedsheet that appeared gray in the dark. A small cat wearing a coat of gray fur slept soundly on it. After a while, he groaned, stood up, and turned around to look at the clock.

On the wall, within a thin black rim, there was a white round face with twelve numbers neatly arranged on it. The hour hand, black and short but thick, stayed still, pointing toward seven. The long minute hand, so long that it nearly touched the numbers, was just above the number one. The second arm, thin and restless and red in color, steadily ticked on to twelve, and the minute hand moved onto the number one. Just then, on the other corner of the dark room, a door sprang open. With a grim face, he walked through the door.

There was a table made of steel with a steel chair placed against the wall. Upon it were many books piled on top of each other. They all had covers of solid colors and covered half of the table. And on the little space left, there was a small black table lamp, a green pencil holder, and a box of mathematical instruments. On the other end of the table, there was a stack of exercise books. Next to the table, there was a set of drawers made out of steel. On the very top of the drawers, there were more piles of books with solid-colored covers. On the other side of the room was a steel cupboard with still more books on top of it. He went and pulled out the chair and sat on it. The cat came and sat on the floor beside him. Looking at the towering pile of books, he sighed and glanced down.

From where he sat, looking down, he could see, hidden away under the table, the glass jar in which the paint brushes were kept. There was a thick layer of dust gathered on the jar. Between a thin paintbrush with a blue handle and a large brown brush, a miniature cobweb was woven. He kept looking at it. After a while, he raised his head and looked around him. There was a small gap between his table and the drawers. Through this, he could see the edges of the canvas boards stored away behind them. And the handle of a cricket bat prodded out from the space between the floor and the drawers.

He looked at the farthest corner of the room where, partly hidden from view because of the steel cupboard, there was a small cupboard. It had glass doors framed with wood. Through the glass, he could see, placed on the shelves, many books with lovely pictures on their covers and lovely tales inside them. On the top shelf of the cupboard, there were ample paint bottles and boxes of paint tubes and paint brushes. But the cupboard was locked with a large padlock. On the top of the wooden cupboard, there was a brown guitar.

 He bit his lips and nervously glanced at the door he came from. Then he stood up, pushing the chair backward, and crawled under the table. He reached out his hand towards the jar of brushes —

The thin red second hand hurriedly ticked to twelve, and the minute hand slowly ticked to the number two.

There was a loud crashing sound and the chair suddenly began to slide toward the table. He got out from under the table, and the startled cat jumped out of the way just in time as the chair slid under the table and came to a stop. 

He looked yearningly at the jar, still unmoved, and then glared at the chair. Then he looked at where the loud sound came from. On the other side of the room another door, wooden and whitewashed, had opened, leading to another room. Still glaring, he slouched through the open door.

On a long wooden table, there was a tall glass of milk. Beside it was a basket woven with cane. There was a bunch of bananas, two guavas, and a tiny orange in the basket. There was a single steel chair by the table, on which he came and sat. He looked at the basket of fruit with interest. Then he took the two guavas and placed them on the table close together but with a little gap between them. He took out the tiny orange as well and put it in the gap between the guavas. Finally, he took a banana from the bunch and placed it near the guavas and the orange, with the tips of it turned toward the other fruits. He smiled at the face looking back at him, with two guava eyes and an orange nose and a smiling banana mouth —

At that moment, on the clock, the second hand ticked to twelve and the long minute hand moved to three.

The fruit face on the table became disfigured as all the fruits began to roll toward the basket. First, the guavas rolled across the table, followed by the orange and the banana. When they reached the basket, one by one, all the fruits slowly toppled into it. He sat there in silence with knotted brows and a grim mouth. Then, having nothing else to do, he  took the glass of milk and began to drink it.

The minute hand ticked to four when he returned to the room with the steel table and the books. From a tall pile of books placed at the edge of the table, a book with a solid green cover fell onto the little space left on the table. Then the book opened and the pages began to turn themselves at a terrific speed and came to a stop in the middle of the book. With a groan, he took an exercise book from the pile on the table, a pencil, and the box of mathematical instruments and sat down. Then he opened his exercise book and, referring to the green-covered book, began his work.

The clock ticked on and he continued his work. After a while, the minute hand on the clock ticked to four. The book with the green cover closed itself. An enormous book with a solid black cover was placed on top of a pile of books on the table. That book slowly slid forward and softly fell onto the green-covered book. Then the black book opened itself and, just as the green book had, its first few pages turned themselves and came to a stop in the middle of the book. Heaving a sigh, he put away the exercise book he was writing on and took another from the pile of exercise books. Then, referring to the black book, he started his work. As he worked and time went by, he slowly became restless. Instead of writing, he twiddled his pencil and thought about many things.

The minute hand moved to the number five.

As the black book closed itself, he looked around the room and made a sudden decision. He stood up and hastily picked up the chair and walked toward the wooden cupboard in the corner. He eagerly gazed through the glass doors at the books concealing stories and tales of wonder and shot an angry look at the padlock used to lock the cupboard. Then, he looked at the guitar sitting on the cupboard, quite out of reach. He put the chair down near the cupboard and quickly climbed onto it. 

He stood on his toes, grabbed hold of the cupboard’s top, and looked closely at the guitar. Its strings were covered in dust. He reached out his hand to take it.

The thin second hand crossed the number twelve and the minute hand ticked to six.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the padlock of the cupboard unlocked itself, making a small clicking sound. Then, all at once, the doors of the cupboard sprang open, pushing the chair away. It was all he could do to keep from tumbling down as the chair he stood on slid across the room with a terrible screech. When the chair came to a stop, he slowly climbed down with a face as white as paper. After a while, the minute hand slowly moved to seven. The doors of the wooden cupboard closed again, and the padlock locked itself once more.

Still dazed from his frightful experience, he slowly pushed the chair toward his table and sat down. The cat, which had snuck under the table, now climbed onto it. It was holding a thin paintbrush with a blue handle in its mouth. He took the paintbrush, as the cat sat waving its tail. A smile etched onto his face as he keenly examined the paintbrush, rolling it between his fingers. But, after a while, his face darkened. 

“No, kitty, I am not someone who is supposed to mingle with these things . . . or, at least, that’s how it wants it to be,” he said bitterly as he listened to the sound of the clock ticking in the other room.

He kept fidgeting with the paintbrush with knotted eyebrows. Then —

The minute hand of the clock slowly ticked to the number eight.

The enormous black book slid toward the edge of the table and pushed the cat down onto the floor. The poor cat, startled once again, landed softly on its paws. The black book slowly slid off the table and fell toward the cat. Within a blink of a moment, the cat jumped away and the enormous book, as thick and heavy as a large brick, fell onto the floor, where the cat had sat a second ago, with a mighty thud. 

He jumped to his feet. An enraged look was in his eyes. He was finally set off. Bending down, he picked up the enormous black book. Through the open door, in the dark room, he could see the clock ticking away on the wall. With a livid look on his face and tightened lips, he firmly grabbed the black book, and lifting it up, he threw it through the door at the clock —

The minute hand of the clock ticked to nine and the door of the dark room began to close.

The big black book thrown at the clock was caught between the closing door and the wall. Halfway up from the floor, the book stayed stuck between the door and the wall, preventing the door from closing.

The cat, having been pushed down from a table and nearly crushed by a brick of a book, ran into the dark room through the gap between the door and the wall created by the book. He stayed still, looking at what had happened. Then, with a small grin, he squeezed through the gap between the door and the wall.

The clock was no longer moving. The hour hand was still, as usual. But the minute hand wasn’t moving. And the thin red second hand could only twitch, unable to move. As he approached the clock, the twitching of the second hand became faster and faster. He stood smiling at the clock and then, reaching up with his right hand, he took the clock down from the wall and removed its battery.

He tossed the silent clock and the battery onto the bed with a gray bed sheet. He went to the window and drew open the thick curtain. The curtain did not close itself again. He then turned the handle of the black door by the window and found it unlocked. He went back to the room with the steel table and returned with some paint tubes and the jar of paintbrushes and a canvas. Opening the black door, with the cat at his heels and the paints and canvas in his arms, he stepped out into the sunshine. 

In a KidSpirit Fiction piece, teen writer Soniru Dilith Koswatta asks why we must put our dreams on hold.

The Clock

Adya Sarin

a wish. a longing. a yearning. a stare.
a broken vessel, a pit of despair 
chock full of hope 
empty light, air 

effortless victories 
no need for a goal
“everything comes so easy to you” 
was all they were ever told 

thoughts existing in fiction,
the realm of their mind
blurry images 
and tattered smiles 

stars burning out faster than flame 
empty minds but things stay the same 
dreaming of a world unknown to them all
dreaming of a place not too big, not too small 

to house their inhibitions
rid themselves of their fear,
erase the complications 
of blood and tears 

embrace the anger, the light, the night 
make the most of their so called strife

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Adya Sarin contemplates dreams gone unfulfilled.

burnt out stars

Luke Burt

I dream
That the snow
will fall this winter. That
the winter flakes will settle
as the children run and build
snowmen, shouting,
screaming, and being
showmen.

I dream
As presents get laid
by the tree, as the cookies
and milk go, the star on the tree will
surely glow, glimmering though the falling
snow, showing memories of long ago.
The dreams will come like falling
snow. As Santa Claus goes
HO HO HO.

I dream
that as we open
calendars, and as the chocolate
gets revealed, the children collect their
presents and all their Christmas yield. I dream
that it will snow this year, that Santa will
come with his deer. I dream that what I dream
comes true. I dream that this winter will
be the best time of the year
for me and you.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Luke Burt shares his hopes for the winter holiday season.

I Dream This Winter

Nubiana Smiley

Can a foster child’s dream come true? Is there always hope at the end of the tunnel? 

In this article, I will help you answer those questions with my review of the 2014 film adaptation of Annie, directed by Will Gluck.  

Annie is a foster child living in an apartment in New York with multiple other girls who are under the care of a promiscuous, emotionally detached, and manipulative young woman who fosters them all for her own financial benefits.  Annie tries to have a positive outlook on life throughout the movie, which is emphasized through her interactions with the people she comes across every day, all while being uncertain about who her parents are and when they are coming back for her. Understandably, Annie’s circumstances could get her down, but she remains hopeful, holding tightly on to her desire to have her parents one day. 

As the movie progresses, a wealthy man by the name of William Stacks saves Annie from being hit by a van when she is running across the road trying to save a stray dog from two young boys. Annie and William become inseparable, building a strong connection, which initially is meant to strengthen William’s outward image, as he is campaigning to be mayor. Yet, they connect with each other and fulfill the parent-child bond they both evidently need. As Annie is assisting with the growth of William, she is very fortunate to be taken out of her toxic situation to live with him — experiencing the life she dreamt of by having her own room, people who serve parental roles, and many opportunities. 

Nonetheless, a movie isn’t a movie without a plot twist, and, without giving away any spoilers, let’s just say an ill-intentioned man (working with William) tries to deceive both Annie and William. With his obvious care and love for Annie, William earns her trust again and the movie ends happily with Annie’s dream being fulfilled.

The plot of Annie is cohesive in my opinion, with each event leading into the next, gradually building to a tense pinnacle (which I won’t spoil) and then decreasing in tension to end the movie off nicely. 

I also absolutely loved the soundtrack and the songs because of the rhythm and percussion used, which makes the songs lively, exciting, and upbeat, not to mention extremely catchy. I especially enjoyed the songs “It’s a Hard Knock Life” and “Tomorrow” because of the passion within them, but also the sort of layering and echoing of words that adds to the feel. Furthermore, my liking of the soundtrack increased because of the messages in the songs. For example, in “Tomorrow,” Annie sings, “when I’m stuck with a day that’s gray and lonely, I just stick up my chin and grin and say... the sun will come out tomorrow,” displaying her hope and optimism for the next day. I feel this is an outlook on life that everyone can adopt to make life a bit more enjoyable, even when you meet adversity face-to-face. “Tomorrow” is a song I'll be singing when I’m down going forward.

The character Annie (played by Quvenzhane Wallis) starts off as a hopeful child, but by the end she transforms into a confident, happy, and secure young girl with her dream of having parents fulfilled.  

William Stacks (played by Jamie Foxx) is presented as work-oriented and quite desensitized to his own emotions. However, as the movie progresses, William sees the importance of relationships and the people around him, resulting in a healthy balance of work, enjoying life, and the gift that is Annie.

Grace (played by Rose Byrne) is William’s seemingly professional female assistant who supports him in his campaign to be mayor. She begins as an overthinker, in my opinion, consumed by her profession and slightly in denial regarding her true feelings and intentions for William. Towards the end of the movie (with prompting from Annie) we see her embrace her vulnerability and be transparent with William, in addition to serving in a maternal role for Annie.

Miss Hannigan (played by Cameron Diaz) is, as I alluded to in the beginning, promiscuous, emotionally detached (from herself and the foster children in her care), and manipulative. She is seen flirting with men, being cruel and callous to the girls she cares for in every way, including degrading them with her words, and even scheming with the ill-intentioned man against Annie and William’s relationship. But when she realizes the wrong she has done throughout the movie leading up to this point, she has a subsequent change of heart and aids in setting everything right again, displaying a complete change in character morally.

Guy (played by Bobby Cannavale) is the ill-intentioned man I’ve mentioned previously. To begin with, he is depicted as supportive of William, having nothing but his best interests at heart and constantly finding opportunities to build his image and positive reputation, but we are then exposed to his cunning disposition when he only considers himself and his gain from exploiting both Stacks and Annie.

The movie made me experience a lot of emotions. At points I felt on edge due to the tension that built up within the movie; at others I felt compassionate and empathetic because of what Annie was going through. At the end of the movie, I felt inspired to have a more positive and tenacious outlook on life, as Annie did, reaffirming that giving up should always be the last option in the face of adversity. Not only was I inspired by Annie’s attitude, but I was also inspired to see people like me in the leading roles. This showed me, and can show anyone, that we can do anything we put our minds to. 

This movie greatly relates to this issue’s theme of “Dreams and Desires,” as Annie almost had hers destroyed and she never once gave up on them or allowed anyone to diminish them. She stuck to her dream of having her parents with her and eventually was granted exactly that — maybe not in the way she thought, but nonetheless her dreams were fulfilled.  

Overall, I rate Annie 4.5 stars out of 5 because of the high-quality nature of the movie in its entirety, as well as its beautiful message to stay optimistic and always have hope in your dreams and whatever your desires are.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Nubiana Smiley gives her take on the inspiring 2014 movie Annie. 

A Review of the 2014 Adaptation of Annie

Fatima Shafi

They fished it out of the murky sewer waters,

Dried it up and wiped it clean and put it on display.

They ooh’ed and ah’ed in mystified delight

This vital organ that once pumped blood through and around

Now hung dead and depleted in the Louvre’s gargantuan halls

A fragmented mosaic of "what if’s" and "maybe’s"

Then stood an elder from amongst the crowds

His aura commanded respect just as well as if

"Listen closely to the story of this scarred and shattered heart

It beat once in the chest of my fiery-eyed granddaughter

Locked her away, they did, within Rapunzel’s tower

A dark and dank place where she willed away the hours

In books and inside her head - both frightening places,

Dead desires and dreams, dead passions and pursuits

Corpses that had long since withered away

And become one with the air and the soot.

There they locked my fiery-eyed, my rebel, my pride.

If you take off your hijab just for one photo.

Forget your dreams of science and saving lives

Ensure your marriage first. You must first be a wife,

Surrounded by eyes widened in shock and mouths agape,

"So she sat, surrounded by the ghosts of her dreams and desires,

Hands bound, feet chained, fissure-cracks through her heart."

Mosaic Heart

Virginia Rodriguez

So many thoughts to think about
Childhood memories bring me some joy
Dreaming about being a superstar
Or being a princess and having a fortress
Not so sure! Wake up!

They seem so easy to achieve
Except now I know there are instruments that aren’t easy to play
Many trolls to fight and no prince charming to help me

I just have a few desires
To be what I want, what I fought for
I am not a princess, I am not a superstar
I am unique! I am me!
To live every day with joy
With gratitude and love
Not waiting for someone or something

The status of my life depends on me
I can dream big!
Small steps, yes! Perhaps big steps
Perhaps start, that’s a start
I will accomplish my purpose
The unique desire of being me!

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Virginia Rodriguez sheds childhood visions in exchange for her authentic dreams and aspirations. 

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