The Pursuit of the Dream Job

An opening in four languages and one friendly warning

It started the way “Lunch” conversations often do: not with a thesis, but with a vibe. Rosii warmed up the room by hopping across greetings—Portuguese, English, Spanish, and Japanese—like someone flipping through postcards from past lives. That multilingual playfulness wasn’t just small talk; it was a quiet announcement of who she is: a people-person shaped by real conversations, real customers, and real cultural overlaps. 

Enter the Mayor (Frank), who instantly did what a good host does: set the tone and set the boundary—“choose your words with care”—half tease, half gentle steering wheel.  The message was clear: we’re here to wander, but we’ll wander together.

And then, like any good origin story, Rosii dropped a character from her past: an older Japanese customer who didn’t just buy tickets—he brought a small trilingual book and turned the travel agency counter into a tiny language classroom. In Rosii’s telling, the memory stays vivid because it wasn’t transactional; it was affectionate, human, and oddly instructional. 

From tickets and terminals to a changing definition of “dream”

When the official topic finally arrived—dream jobs—the conversation didn’t snap into a neat motivational poster. It unfolded like a real résumé does: sideways, with detours and surprises. The Mayor asked the straight question (“do you have a dream job?”), and Rosii answered honestly in motion: once upon a time, she wanted to be a tourist guide—and that desire made sense, because tourism wasn’t a chapter for her; it was 24 years. 

She walked them through the early timeline: first a real estate rental setting, then a travel agency in Guarulhos, Brazil, where she learned not just routes and fares, but patience—how to handle the public, how to deal with the daily friction that comes with being the person other people need. 

The scene turned cinematic when Rosii described work travel sent by her boss every few months—quick trips to learn destinations so she could “sell” them with credibility later. And of course, “Lunch” being “Lunch,” the destination name became a comedy sketch: Jericoacoara—an apparently gorgeous place, and also (in Frank’s imagination) “a duck giving birth to an egg.” 

But the real pivot wasn’t the beaches. It was the shift in Rosii’s use of the word “dream.” Her dream job wasn’t frozen in time. “Nowadays,” she said, the dream has moved—toward teaching children. 

The dream job isn’t just passion: it’s reward, conditions, and the age of the students

Fruitloop (Janita) did what she does best: she took the emotional concept (“dream job”) and asked for the missing variables—passion and reward. Not just “what you love,” but what sustains you: time off, salary, school holidays, the practical payback that keeps love from turning into exhaustion. 

Rosii’s answer was grounded in experience rather than ideals. She’s taught teenagers and adults for decades—and she didn’t romanticize it. Teenagers are difficult, adults can be worse, and the job’s emotional climate matters as much as the lesson plan. With children—especially around ages six or seven—she imagines something different: attention, sweetness, that early-learning curiosity that makes progress feel like a small miracle. 

Her proof wasn’t theoretical. It was domestic: a parent’s meeting story in which a mother reported that her son was spontaneously practicing English at home (“good morning,” “I’m hungry”). In other words, Rosii isn’t chasing applause—she’s chasing transfer: the moment the learning leaves the classroom and becomes real life. 

And in the middle of this sincerity, “Lunch” kept its wink. Frank latched onto “I’m hungry” like it was a running gag with a contract, and Fruitloop confirmed the joke would return tomorrow, as all good jokes do. 

Working from home: the dream, the trap, and the “always on” brain

Then Rosii asked the question that sits underneath a lot of modern work fantasies: You work from home—how do you deal with it? She described a teacher friend doing what so many online instructors are forced into: back-to-back classes with minimal breaks, 8–9 hours in front of a laptop, the kind of schedule that turns language into a production line. 

The Mayor didn’t sell remote work as freedom. He called it out: working from home isn’t easy, because you “never switch off” and the mind keeps moving even when the body is technically “done.”  But he also drew an important distinction about their setup: they don’t “teach” in the traditional, prep-heavy sense. They “create an environment” for speaking, with long-horizon planning and flexible behind-the-scenes work—structured enough to deliver, loose enough to breathe. 

Fruitloop zoomed out to the industry shape behind Rosii’s friend’s exhaustion: hourly pay pressures that incentivize teachers to overload their schedules just to earn enough, plus a harsher claim from the Mayor —online teaching as an industry can be “quite bad,” with rates promised and then reduced, and teachers sometimes having to chase payment. 

And Rosii, who consistently looks at work through a human lens, offered the counterweight: for parents, being home can mean actually witnessing childhood rather than outsourcing it to a 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. institutional day. Fruitloop agreed with the real-life nuance—having her son around is a “blessing in disguise,” sometimes wonderful, sometimes complicated—especially when multiple adults in the home work remotely. 

The closing philosophy: do your best, gain experience, stay playful

Like many “Lunch” sessions, the ending didn’t land on a conclusion—it landed on a reflection.

Rosii dropped a line she attributes to Brazilian philosopher Mario Sergio Cortella: do your best with what you have. Frank echoed the spirit in his own phrasing—do your best “with your head”—a very “Mayor” way of turning encouragement into a mantra. 

Then came the signature “Lunch” question: if your dream job became a place you could visit for one day, what would it look like? Rosii’s answer was sensory and calm—mountains, breakfast, a hammock, barefoot grass, and the ultimate scene: her students speaking English with confidence.  Frank imagined a café-like world—relaxed, social, full of snacks and conversation—where learning feels like hanging out.  Fruitloop’s dream was simpler and therefore perfect: a holiday anywhere that isn’t home, with a different view out the window. 

And finally, the personal tag that makes a work conversation feel like community: the Mayor revealed it was Janita’s birthday on Monday, and Rosii confirmed the date—Monday, April 6—then offered the line that could double as the whole meeting’s moral: you don’t get older; you get more experience. 

It was, in the end, a conversation about dream jobs that refused to become a cliché. It stayed what it actually was: three lives, three work styles, a few jokes, a few truths, and the shared understanding that the best careers aren’t always “found”—they’re shaped, one honest sentence at a time.