The Stranger Woman and My Childhood Self

Yesterday, a friend told me about a strange dream he had.

This dream is gentle, yet also “cruel”.
The cruelty lies in this: the clearer the dream’s gentleness, the more absolute its “cruelty” becomes.
(What you most desire can only be created by yourself within the dream.)

He said that in the dream, a stranger woman appeared before him, surrounded by a faint halo, as if a light mist hung in the air. Her gaze was gentle yet tinged with a trace of sadness.

The woman spoke: “I am the mother you lost when you were very young.”
Her voice carried a soft greeting, as if saying: “How have you been? I have been waiting for you.”

Then, she handed him a photograph—a picture of him as a child.

The photo appeared like an image emerging from the mist, carrying a kind of hazy warmth.
He paused for a moment and smiled bitterly: “The strange thing is, I have no memory of what I looked like as a child.”

I listened, then asked after a moment of silence: “How did you feel at that moment?”

He replied softly: “It felt so real in the dream, as if someone had been watching me all along but could never reach me.”

I nodded: “Perhaps that woman isn’t someone from reality, but a reminder from your subconscious—you were once seen, even if no one in reality ever told you.”

The woman smiled gently, as if knowing he had grown up, no longer playing with toy helicopters, and so she brought him a bowl of his favorite century egg and lean pork congee.
Steam rose slowly, carrying the scent of home and a quiet sense of waiting—someone had been waiting for you.

He fell silent for a moment, as if digesting the possibility.
Then, he said softly: “Those things that should have belonged to me but never did—to be greeted and waited for, it turns out, feels so warm.”

“Lost, not abandoned,” I continued, “that wording in the dream is crucial. It helps you understand that loneliness and loss are not your fault.”

His smile softened further: “Maybe I wasn’t properly remembered in my childhood, but in the dream, she remembered for me.”

At that moment, I suddenly understood: this dream wasn’t deceiving him but filling a void for him—a tender corner in the heart, something no one else could fill, yet deeply yearned for.

Looking at him, a quiet sense of emotion welled up inside me: even if something is missing in reality, one can always keep a little warmth in the heart.

Sometimes, we feel as if we are missing something or being overlooked.

But dreams like this remind us: absence does not mean worthlessness, and loneliness does not mean abandonment.

Even if no one in reality remembers the small details for us, we can still keep a tender corner in our hearts, allowing ourselves to be seen and warmed.

The light in the dream, the images in the dream—perhaps they are the sense of security we’ve always longed for deep within.