Dreams

So my last post was about sleep, and now it’s about dreams. I swear, I’m not doing this on purpose. It just so happens that my mind seems to have taken an interest in a particular train of thought. I wonder what’s next, snoring? HAHAHA. But anyway, my dreams are usually very vivid and entertaining; sort of like watching a feature film while you sleep. I love my dreams! They make sleeping interesting. But apart from these regular movies-in-my-head, I also have what I call “prophetic” dreams that I dream before something significant happens. Sometimes, they contain an important message, or warning. Usually, what happens in my dreams happens in real life (just not exactly like it happened in my dreams because singing hamsters doing a number about me passing my second driving test is just too much to handle).

Last night, I may have had a prophetic dream.

(WAIT! Before we continue, as you read about what went on in my dream, you’ll notice that I say “it felt like” a lot. This is so because sometimes I can’t remember faces or details but I feel them. So, in my dreams, I may not always know or identify people or places because maybe the images are blurred, but I always feel them and that’s how I come to know them). Okay, so let’s try this again.

Last night, I may have had a prophetic dream.

The dream started of in its usual way; entertaining, a recollection of the days events, etcetera. But one part really stood out (and that’s how I know that I’m having that kind of dream). I was in a bedroom. It felt like a boy’s room. The walls where white (but not too bright white, maybe eggshell white), and the floor was made of polished wood. There was no bed, just a computer desk sans the computer, and a whitish/grayish chair. Beside the desk and chair was a single window, with whitish/grayish horizontal blinders; the kind that you can adjust to control how much light you let in. Really, it was a very ordinary looking room. It felt familiar, though I had never been in it.

I was sitting by the desk, leafing through the many papers scattered on it when my attention was brought to the cabinet doors, covered top to bottom in more paper. They looked like all sorts of things; checked test papers, notes, letters, and the like. In the center was a calendar. To the left of the calendar were polaroid pictures of me, and who I assume was the owner of the room (I was right; it was a boy). I can’t remember if his face was shown, or if it was blurred but it felt like I knew who he was because of his build.

The pictures had captions which described memories that the pictures supposedly depicted. Some were real events that happened in my life, and others were probably real only in my dreamverse. Funnily, the pictures depicted me in my younger years, probably in high school. The boy, however, seemed to be my age now, like in his early 20s.

If I looked at a picture, it would move, and suddenly I’d be in the memory watching it happen. Out of all the pictures taped to the cabinet only one picture-memory stood out: it was a very colorful and bright photo of me, the boy, and many other people. I was to the left of the photo, the other people were around and behind me, and to the right was the boy. He seemed shy, or hesitant, or both. As I looked at the photo, I was transported into the “memory”: It was daytime, and I was at my old clubhouse witnessing some sort of party. It felt like a party for me. People that felt like friends and family were there, and there were children of all kinds of ethnicities. Some were Caucasian, others Asian, African-american, Hispanic, etc. I walked around, observing this scene. The children and their parents were playing or doing things together (like having a picnic) in the grassy part between my old pool and my old clubhouse. They would look at me as I passed by them, smile or wave, then go back to their business. The entire vibe of the party was very lively and celebratory, like a children’s party held for me. I walked into the old clubhouse, and people were laughing, talking, running around, and socializing. To the back of the clubhouse, the part facing the creek, was the boy. He was seated on a white monoblock chair, kind of in a slouch. His face was turned towards the creek. In the dream, I stood just an arms-length away from him—I could have easily reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. But even though I was near him, it felt like he was somewhere in his head where I couldn’t reach him. So I looked at him. And finally, he looked at me. As we looked at each other, I felt a twinge of sadness emanate from the both of us. It felt like he was smiling, but it was a sad smile. Maybe I smiled too. Suddenly, I was pulled away from that memory and I found myself back in the room, staring at the picture.

A butler (in all his tuxedoed butler glory) peeked from behind the bedroom door. The butler said, “Just a moment. He’ll see you soon.” Who was he? The owner of the room? The boy in the pictures? But the butler disappeared, as quickly as he had appeared. I turned away from the bedroom door to look at more pictures, but to my surprise all the papers and the pictures that were taped to the cabinet were suddenly in a medium sized brown balikbayan box beside the cabinet, as if someone cleaned up the cabinet and dumped them into the box to…to be thrown away? Stored somewhere else? Sorted out? Forgotten?

I looked at the box with all the papers and pictures and felt the sadness I had shared with the boy again, now with a touch of longing. Then, even though the butler hadn’t come back to say so, I knew the boy wasn’t coming to see me anymore.

I stood there, with the box, and the desk, and the chair, and the blinders. I felt a gust of wind, and the papers fluttered briefly, as if something fast had passed by. Then, all was still again. Now the room felt empty. It felt like someone moved out. There was no more feeling of familiarity, no presence. It felt like seeing an empty room of an empty house that you might or might not buy.

And then, I woke up.

So, I stayed in bed for a while, because the feelings from the dream were still there, like nakapatong on my chest, though they weren’t as strong as they were in the dream. Parang…the feelings were fading but there were still remnants. Residue? I don’t know how to describe it. My body felt lethargic and heavy too. As I lay in bed, I thought about what it could mean, and what it was trying to tell me. I think I might have an idea. Hmmmm.

Well, it’s time for me to go to work! Hahahahaha! Just felt like I had to get that off my chest! Til the next post!

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