Dreams doesn’t always mean it’s a Euphoric Escape

August 5th, 2007

I base my thoughts in life through a simple dream. It could end up being a nightmare or I could float earnestly with glee about it. I would never had thought about writing this stuff because it would sound so fictional and this is not something to applaud about. I don’t want to sound like a freak. But there were too many DEJA VUs, too many ALMOSTS.

* I was then a kid, I held on to one piece of something that serves as an expensive treasure for me. It was a ring from my Barbie doll collection. I could remember how it’s elongated purple crystal gleamed whenever I raise my hand to hit it with the light, its tiny rosettes of faux crystals surrounding it would sparkle. A girl of no more than six years old would truly consider it as a priced possession. We went to Davao, thinking we went there for a short visit to my estranged mother-side’s family. We stayed there for good and I’d completely forgotten about the ring.

I’ve dreamt of missing something and it left a heavy mark on my heart.

* Just when we came back to CDO two years after, I’d never stopped fumbling over the hem of my shirt, thinking of the loss I’ve had. Gone were all of the things in our house, my irrational uncle had sold all of it saying he was at loss of money when we were at Davao. I hated him for it, I even lost my dog, Puppy. Our neighbor said Puppy had ran away because she never got fed. Maybe she was just telling me this for me to get over the grief. But I’ve kept my hate to myself, seeing how bravely my Dad could walk in the situation; never spill a single word of disgust nor he’d even lashed out at my uncle. My Dad was patient and it never occured to him to be mad at somebody unless he’d be provoked. This maybe one of his frustrations. I share the same frustrations. We could hold on to the pain and we could easily forgive but doubts would eat our minds and that’s what could trigger us to scream in fury, only for a time but we grow tired of beng played around.

Days had passed, I may have neglected the inner part of me. I was in college when I remembered I’d began dreaming again. Three silver-white coffins trailed themselves before me. I was in a wide hall, with a handful of pews arranged in slanting rows opposite each other. People started to pop up, as they casually grabbed a glass of orange refreshment, like a simple rendezvous going on. I was bidding my time to walk in between the undisturbed crowds.

* My mom was shattered later one day, cold feet and clammy hands. I could make her out from the window where I was watching her trying to hold on to her cellphone as she’d talked with her sister. Her younger brother died. Shot right in the head, in broad daylight; and was accused (although I truly know he’s still at it) to be a drug dealer. I traveled with my Mom back to Davao, my first time to be back after 10 years. We never got a warm welcome, some of my uncles held a grudge towards my mother, blaming Uncle Luis’ death on her. They’d blamed their having to be poor to be her fault. They’ve blamed their being lazy to be her fault. My Mom cried in mixed emotions : over the grief of her loss of her brother and over the maddened hate she’s built towards her ungrateful siblings. I was clutching on my fork at that time, thinking I’d lunge towards any of them that dares to make that one false move. I don’t care about ending up being hurt but I don’t want to see my Mom hurt as well. I was sickened by the though that until now, they depend on her. Being the eldest of ten and all, my Mom has took hold of the inheritance they’re supposed to have which was given by my late grandfather. Regarding the wherabouts of it, I have no idea. But the mere thought that they’d be saved from struggling poverty if they’d have the money with them gives me the craze. They are just plain LAZY. Their name bore a prestigious mark in Digos. ESTRADA, a name that they’re putting in vain. A name they’ve greatly usurped thinking they’d be fed by the riches worked hard by our ancestors. I pity them.

—

* A few months later, my grand uncle died. I don’t know him that well but my Dad has lived with him in his early years of childhood at Surigao del Sur so he’s not a distant relative. Lolo Boy was someone we visit at Tagoloan during Sunday mornings since it was a few minutes drive from our place. His place is where we’d lived before when I was younger, where my uncles and aunts lived on the same street. I was a miniature doll or a pet to Lolo Boy’s family. I was told I’d often escape from our house and trottle my way towards theirs. My Mom got accustomed to my toddler-mischiefs, knowing the lost me is just at Lolo Boy’s house. That was it then, the second coffin passed.

—

* Weeks later, Daddy Jun died, my grand Uncle as well. This time, he played a deep part in my life. I’ve known him since I was young and his eldest daughter, Keziah happens to be my colleague although she’s a year older than I. He was my known avenger, who’d tolerated my rebellious acts and who’d dared to despise my Dad for battering me up. I was fourteen when he’s told me to stay at his house if I find myself being hurt by my family. I’ve reacted and I’ve said : NO. I was too young to decide then, I was unhappy but I was afraid of what my Dad’s going to say. It took me six years to think about it and I’ve finally decided to stay at his house but by that time he was already gone. I’m still protected by him and I could feel his presence just inches away from me. It’s not freaky though. His presence could be the reason why I am so stubborn and unafraid to take chances. I’m still living in his home, though when he’d lived, he rarely comes here. He busied himself with the stupid MANLY-MISTAKES of being a cheater but I’ve never lost my respect towards him. I’d cringed whenever he’d measure out the people I befriend with. He was strict but I am not afraid of him because I love him and he won’t hurt me anyhow. I love my Dad, too but he was someone that I could easily hate because he could crush me easily as well.

I rarely speak about the innards of my being. But these are the thoughts that were composed inside my mind. I’ve closed my weird connections to my dreams but it keeps on coming back.
—
I’ve dreamt of my Dad, and he was doing nothing in my dream, somewhat floating in a distant.

* Days later, he had an accident for being a drunk driver. A reckless decision to go home with limp legs to push on the pedals. He was alright.
I was fearful of what I should be dreaming about the next time.
—
I had a good view of the beach up ahead, when I ran towards the scene, the beach was gone. It was all replaced by a rain-drenched soil and three giant scorpions scrambled for clearing, hiding behind the rocks that I’ve stood on. My Team Captain, Diggy stood infront of me and I tiptoed myself up to give him a tight hug before I woke up from my sleep.

* It was a day after this dream had occured that I’d helplessly watched three men stowed away, away with my bag and personal belongings. They’d mugged me at the dark corners of the street when I was headed home at dawn from work, aiming a dull knife at my chest if I don’t hand my things over. It has been raining those days and I’d knelt mindlessly on the mud watching them get away and I was unable to scream for help. What I could remember was that Diggy was the last person that I’ve hugged before I went inside the shuttle bound for home on that day. I give up! I was jinxed and I’ve learned to hate sleeping. My mind had recently failed to create dreams for me, I was on my own again.
—

I’ve dreamt of Mabsy, a friend. A giant for a child who was generous enough to share his treasured gifts to me. He’s gotten into a brawl in Iligan and I’ve seen how wrecked his face was, tagging along with him were the two Hazels he’s been with (HAZEL LEE) and he’s currently with (HAZEL JACKSON).

* This was in my dream. The two Hazels are not in good terms actually nor Hazel Lee and Mabsy. Just last Monday, HuLee relayed to me about the accident Mabsy has gotten into. His car crashed on a jeepney. It was a wreck! He can’t use it no more. Now, I’m wondering, am I envisioning things or what?

I don’t want to think that probably I am cursed or jinxed or something. But all I know is I’ve never have problems talking to people about the dreams that I’m having and they usually become partly real days after I’ve told off my stories. A premonition, maybe. A rare occurence to an ordinary person but it is happening to me. This doesn’t separates me from the normal thinking of human beings but my heart beats rapidly for the eerie experiences I have. I dream of bad dreams, of something awful that is about to happen. I force myself to shut my eyes, thinking I could redo everything but I’ve got no hold on fate. It will happen. Things will happen. I’ve grown sallow and thin. I am not in a delusion but my mind’s in a wild craze. I am uncomfortable and I am afraid. Dreams became my enemy but certainly an answer still floats from nowhere and I couldn’t have a grasp on it.