Monthly Archives: September 2008

the nights i got lost in dreams

there are dreams, there are fantasies, and there are nightmares.

i will not expound on all three as i am not an authority; i won’t tell you about my nightmares, either, for they are many, and i fear psychoanalysts might study my nightmares as part of an intellectual exercise.

what i can tell you about is how i invaded people’s dreams for a couple of nights. i didn’t plan it. there was no telepathy that happened; my sensitivity to the supernatural is as acute as a boulder sensing the touch of a wishing feather.

here are accounts from the dreamers:

august 29, 2008
“a feverish dream i just had. before i forget it, a part of it was with were sitting on ____’s chair, then you said, “i’m counting the ways that i took that led me here, wondering where the mistake was.”

i love the statement. i wonder, though, what it means to me and to the dreamer. and i wonder, which mistake was my dream self referring to….

august 30, 2008
“…apologies to your subconscious.”
“i could almost feel you being a wisp of a body in my arms…i could remember feeling your bones through your skin….”

when i got the SMS, it was early in the morning on a weekend. sleep still weighed on my neck and shoulders, and the words on my mobile screen were a blur. it was only after reading the first message for three times did i understand. it was beautiful, the idea of me being merely a ghost in someone’s arms—very surreal, something akin to characters of g.g.marquez’s or allende’s books.

i didn’t know if the planets thrummed a bit, or if the gods made love on these nights, or if the moon hummed a couple of tunes, but these are the nights i invaded people’s thoughts.
there are dreams, there are fantasies, and there are nightmares. whichever way the two dreamers interpreted and accommodated their dreams of me, one thing is for sure: i am never one to be shrugged off that easily even in one’s thoughts.

in between clean-ups

Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary.
What we need is to love without getting tired.
(Mother Teresa)

on sunday evening, my swimming session was cut short due to a heavy downpour. darn. instead of killing brain cells in front of the TV or working away in front of my laptop, i decided to clean the bottom part of my closet. this area was, to put it shortly, a trove of “trash” (read: not my stuff but my siblings’).

i rummaged inside a tattered knapsack, and serendipity hit me. there were recollection letters from frances feranil and from my good friend tider; triccia sucgang’s photo plus her letters; and cham’s birthday card to me. these plus an unopened birthday card (for my 17th birthday, imagine) from rexie (my ex and my shrine), and a card from the most wonderful person to have ever touched my life. this card i read with much fervor. if someone had tried grabbing it, i would have bitten his or her hand off.

and then lo and behold, i found a letter and sheets of muppets stickers from my “big sister” all the way from first year high school initiation process (of course, being a catholic school scared of parent’s association, my school renamed it as “integration”. bull.). i guess if forgiveness were a taste, it would be altogether bland—an absence of revolting bile. it used to be that whenever a scholastican reminded me of initiation, i had the urge to throw up, mainly because my “big sister” gave me hell: she and her barkada made me a the leading “actress” among all their little sisters due to my surname. they had us re-enact (although we weren’t aware of the show at all. must be due to age gap.) the show that bore my surname. of course, i was the star and the main butt of the joke. after that week-long torture, she had the gall to give me a letter of sisterly advice and expression of gratitude. what, for making fun of me? i didn’t know why i didn’t tear the letter months after its receipt. 12 years after, a bit wiser, a bit less rowdy, still a butt of jokes sometimes, i’ve torn the letter and kept the stickers.

there was also a time my “big sister” was featured in an article featuring techies who couldn’t let go of their aged-old gadgets. that time, i was a newbie EA. too bad i wasn’t able to ask for her contact info from volts. i would have gone up to her and scratched her eyes out. f*ck her (and her family tree) for trampling on my esteem

to punctuate my day and to cleanse myself from remnants of wrath, i read hope for the flowers and fell in love all over again with yellow and stripe. i read the card from rexie (side story: this act was odd, as if i summoned him, because that very same night, after three months of zero communication, he called me up and passed by my house. sign? overreading? dense?). and then i read the card from the most wonderful person in my life, and i was brought to tears.

milan kundera should be credited for owning the phrase, unbearable lightness of being. there, i got my favorite phrase, lightness and weight, for this blog. these two are what make up my life. these two make me want to jump off a cliff, kiss the air and then hug the ground. what a life recorded in letters and surprising finds in one dusty closet corner. it’s like shining a light on a forgotten path that is, surprisingly, one of the ways towards Home.