The Stuff of Dreams

Don't Stop Dreaming

About another year passed. While Po still worked on the novel "It is Well" –As he decided on the shorter title–the publisher did want to publish his book of short stories, which did remarkably well. It ended up being a lot of work, and Po learned new things that he never thought he had to go through. Royalties, signing, book management, advertisement. It if weren't for Tai-Lung helping him, he would have been swallowed in the whirlwind. Crane kept doing his research job and went on to actually publish a lot of papers about stress and pursuing desires. "I'm starting to like people more, I guess," He'd say to the others, "Maybe I should go into psychology or something." Instead, he partnered with, and then dated, a well-known psychology researcher in town. A crane, too. Tai-Lung and Mei officially started dating, though Po didn't know exactly when they started dating. 

"You see one with the other almost all the time," He said. But now you see them cooking together and writing together. Tai-Lung recently got a vinyl. Po and Crane would often catch Mei and Tai-Lung slowly dancing to oldies, smiling and staring into each other's eyes. Sometimes it would rain while they danced, and Po could watch the two for hours while the softly pittering rain echoed outside. "It's love in Paris," Po would smile, "I can't explain it any other way." 

Po found himself writing a lot more but also having a lot more reading time. He even volunteered his time to teach a group of high schoolers in Old Italy, which Mei was against at first. But it was from teaching that group that Po found the ability to write many more stories about inequality, redemption, and possible ways to get people out of poverty. At first, there was a lot of push-back from some of Feng-Shui's political leaders at what he was doing, but Po finally said it succulently like this. "If you don't take care of the poor, you will become a kind of poor that is deeper than money." With Po's books and Crane's help, they were able to bring awareness to giving poor people opportunities to learn how to get better and how to get out of poverty. 

Po didn't realize he was becoming a social worker until he helped establish the Institute for a New Italy. The idea was to get the Old Italy out of the Italian, or the old habits of the community out of their systems. It was hard because Po knew what he had to do. "I'd be taking people out of their homes AND separate them. And I can't do that."

"Why would you need to separate them?" Tigress asked. 

"Because Old Italy isn't a place. It's a family. That's what can keep the person in Old Italy. It's not the actual place that stays with a person, it's the people," Po said. "Either I separate the family, which is highly unethical and I'm not doing that, or I try changing the families as a whole, which is extremely difficult." 

"But if you take the people apart, educate and train them as individuals all at once, then what?"

"I imagine that the person would start assimilating. Huh, I'm surprised I know how to use that word," Po chuckled to himself. Tigress smiled, kissing the panda's forehead. "I'll figure out something with volunteers about it. It'll be hard, but I think we'll just have to explain the importance of their environment. Wow, I sound so business-y." While Po was the founder of the institute, he didn't run the function. Surprisingly, Monkey, his old friend worked his way up to the administration and offered him a helping hand along with Mei-Ling, who help closely with the project. Po advanced in Wang's industries too, becoming one of their head content editors, which he didn't know was a position until Kai gave it to him. Kai Wang retired from the CEO of his industry and helps Po with his Institute for New Italy. "Come on, let's get some food. I'm starving." 

"Are you sure? Because the signing is in a few minutes," Tigress said. She had become his manager and agent for most of the time while she published some poems of her own. 

"We'll be fine." Po smiled. So they decided to go down to one of Wang's grocery stores. The vague flowery wave of memories washed over Po as he picked out the foods he was going to eat. Tigress was on the other side getting some paper. When Po picked up a loaf of bread, he smiled at it. It was 92-seeded bread. 

Later on at the signing, Po was autographing another person's book copy of his latest book: a memoir. In it, he had mentioned when he was mugged in Old Italy. The line was long and many people had several questions about the book. Tigress stood by his side and some fans asked for the autograph of her poetry books. "And you said you weren't as popular," Po smirked. The tiger shook her head with a smile as the next person came up. 

That's when they both noticed a person doing something strange in line. Several times, Po would look up and see the person standing in the line, but he never actually got to the desk where Po was. In fact, Tigress noticed he was giving his spot to anyone that would come. Finally, Po stopped and saw the person, he was a wolf, in the same spot. It had been an hour. Po stood up and pointed to the shy-looking wolf. "You, come up here." The shy wolf stumbled his way up to the front. 

"H... He... Hello," the wolf said. 

"Hey, is there a particular reason why you keep giving your spot to other people? Aren't you trying to get an autograph?"

"I... I'm scared." 

"It's okay, I-"

"I... I wanted to tell you how much your books helped me. I was in... I was in prison for a year and when I came out, I went back to the life I lead, but... I stole this book from someone," the wolf produced a copy of Po's book. "And I read it... And... I'm so sorry. I... I started reading your other books and... I..." The wolf started to cry. Everyone in line looked and whispered at each other, trying to figure out what was the matter. Tigress was at a loss and looked at Po who only shrugged. 

"It's okay. You don't need to confess to me. Why don't you just give the book back to the..."

"I'm the one," The wolf said. He lifted his head. "I'm... I'm the wolf that mugged you." Everyone gasped. Tigress reached for her phone, but Po caught her hand. As the wolf cried, Po walked around the table and hugged the wolf. "W-Why? Why are you doing this?"

"If it weren't for you... I wouldn't be here. Thank you," Po smiled, shedding his own tears. Though no one knew why, the people clapped and cheered. Tigress only smiled. 

Po invited the wolf named Lee back to his house where he got an earful from Mei, though it's kinda hard to be scared of a short cute shouting panda. But Mei warmed up to him. Tai-Lung, surprisingly, was more accepting. Lee actually worked at a construction company but left it to help Po write his next story which would be Po's autobiography. 

And that is this story. 

This is the story of a panda realizing what it means to dream and what it means to make the dream a reality. Some dreams are better dead. Others are dreams that need to be modified before their true colors come out. Some dreams are foreign to the dreamers while others were there from the beginning. Some dreams need to die so that what is truly important can live. Other dreams happen because someone higher than us is directing them. Some dreams are simple, others complex. Some are big, others small. The point is we all dream. We're only dead when we stop dreaming. Don't. Stop. Dreaming.

The End

A/N: So confession time- this one sucked! Part of the reason why I did this was to try and show people some tips for writing, but it turns out that I learned the most from this. Lesson one, don't info-dump people about things that can just be put into a Oneshot. Lesson two, actually have an interesting story. Regrettably, the plot of this story kinda fell away when Boqin left, which is bad writing; I realize that. Lesson three, if you the writer don't like rereading what you wrote, re-write it. Lesson four, it is okay to change things midway (Part of the reason why I didn't is that I was experimenting with this new way of writing where I write the whole thing instead of just go by the seat of my pants... looks like I didn't do a good job of that.) Lesson five, don't always go for the shortest way to say or do things. (Part of the reason why the emotion seemed to be lacking in the last part was that the emotion, quite literally, didn't take up a paragraph. Efficiently, it would make sense, but not in this way and I'm sorry about that.)

All in all, I know this turned out to be a bad story. I wouldn't even call it a story, just information that could be useful for some. Thank you all for being frankly honest with me. Don't worry, my feelings are spared... somewhat. But crying over it isn't going to help. I will try to be better about my writing style and put more heart and soul into what I'm writing. Again, sorry about that.