As I sighed, trying to think of an adequate answer to explain this to Tom, I got distracted when I noticed Claire's amused expression as she watched me think.
"Why are you asking him that? You know he's probably not the smartest person alive, so you should avoid asking him for advice in the future," she said, amused by her own criticism.
"Well, it just came to mind. Some people on Earth have dreams and others don't. Why? What is a dream, and why do some people have one while others don't?" he wondered with a curious look.
Strangely, I understood why he was asking. During adolescence, we're in a phase where countless questions come to mind as we try to give meaning to our existence.
"And besides, Léon always asks stupid, pointless questions, so I thought he'd know the answer," Tom added, looking at me.
"Not wrong…" Claire snickered.
"A dream, huh… A dream is what gives meaning to your life, to put it simply. You see, life on Earth is a long journey without a goal. We live free, without chains holding us to this world, and our life has no inherent reason. Being born on this Earth for no reason is unbearable. A dream is a kind of rebellion against that meaningless reality, because a dream is an attempt to give meaning to the life we have through an ideal," I answered after carefully examining the question.
"But how come some people have dreams and others don't?" Tom asked, still curious.
"It's simple. A dream, like he said, is giving meaning to your life. As soon as you have a goal in mind, you can consider it a dream," Claire replied suddenly.
"You're wrong. A dream isn't that. A dream is the final destination. Goals are the steps that lead to it. A dream is more like an ideal to accomplish," I said as I took a cigarette from my pocket and lit it.
"So that's what a dream is…" Tom said, enlightened, while Claire remained silent.
"Don't smoke," she said coldly as she snatched the cigarette from my mouth and crushed it on the ground.
In her eyes, I saw a deep, burning hatred directed at me… She turned around and said:
"I'm going back to my room," she said coldly as she walked away.
"What's her problem now?" I muttered, confused by her sudden mood swing.
"Looks like I put you in a tough spot… Sorry…" Tom said sadly.
"Don't worry about it," I sighed, patting his head before going after my patient.
...…
That bastard. I really hate him. I hate him, I hate him! How can he say things like that? So my existence had no meaning until now? All my efforts to give my life meaning were useless?
The worst part… is that he's right… I told myself as I wiped my tears, still frustrated.
I was so irritated because of it. So my life had no meaning? Did I live for nothing? Everything I did believing in something was pointless?
I always dreamed of giving meaning to my life—that was my goal. But a dream is an ideal, not a goal. So all this time I was wrong, and my life was devoid of meaning.
"That's what makes me angry… That my life was just a joke… just because I was wrong," I muttered as I opened my room door, furious.
"Why did you leave so suddenly?" asked that damn mutt behind me, a cigarette in his mouth.
I snatched it from him and crushed it on the floor.
"This is a patient's room. Please don't smoke here," I said coldly, glaring at him.
"Ah~ If I can't even smoke…" he said, sitting down and eyeing me.
"I'm here to take care of you. If I did something wrong earlier… I'm sorry…" he sighed before opening the windows to air out the room.
"I don't want your apologies. What's done is done. Apologizing is useless," I said angrily.
It made me so mad—he was apologizing without even knowing why I was angry. And the worst part was that I was angry because I was wrong, and he was the one apologizing. It drove me insane.
I was wrong, but I still blamed him for stripping my life of its meaning, even if he was right.
"It's true… Apologies are useless in life… I don't know anything about you, and you don't know anything about me… What I said may have hurt you… I'm sorry," he said sadly.
How could he be sad when I was the one who was hurt?
I slapped him so hard out of sheer anger.
Then I saw blood running down his cheek—my bracelet had hit him instead of my hand and cut him. I panicked when I saw his expression.
"You have the right to be angry. What I said hurt you deeply—I saw it in your eyes, you know… your anger and your pain… Maybe you think I'm doing all this just for the money or something, but this is my job and my choice. I want to help you, so let me…" he said as he pulled me into his arms.
"I'm here to help you and support you… It's my role and my choice. Earlier, I hurt you and wounded your heart. I'm sorry…" he said, holding me tightly against his chest.
How can he act like this? How am I supposed to hate him when he's like this? Yet in his eyes and his voice, I felt his sincerity… Maybe, just this once… I can trust these damn doctors…
"Honestly… I hate you…" I said as I wrapped my arms around him and began to cry.
"I don't want my life to be meaningless!" I screamed in his arms