A most terrible mundane dream

I dreamt last night that I was having a most terrible day, but not the sort of tragic terrible; rather, a mundane terrible. My glasses broke into two. It was a brand new pair. Then I took out my old one and found that it too had broken into two. And so I had to put on the older pair which I don’t really like because its too rectangular and small for my face. I was also not having any particular fun in whatever activity I was participating in. It’s like being at one of those parties you don’t enjoy, and yet you’re staying there hoping that somehow something will happen and make it far more enjoyable; but really you already have a fantasy in your mind which locks your happiness in place, and no other circumstance would ever make you happy. So it was that my mundane day was terrible, and when I got home, I ran immediately into my mother’s bosom, hugged her tightly and started to cry about my terrible day.

I surmise that the cause of this dream was the discomfort in the throat that kept me coughing and jerking when I so desperately wanted to fall asleep. Lying in the bed was torture. And the torture must have made its way into my sleep as well.

Dreams of fantasy

  1. There were examinations being had in the library. I think I did particularly badly for one of the papers. For some reason, I needed to return to the library, for which we would have to fill up a slip of paper and hand it to a grumpy old lady. I tried to sneak in, but the lady caught me quite quickly. She grabbed hold of my front collar and dragged to where the forms were. I began filling it up as she instructed, word by word. Somehow, I couldn’t spell properly and kept fumbling with my pen. Then I made a joke about the little swing gate; about how it was too large or too small, and everyone in the library laughed. Even the grumpy old lady herself was laughing.
  2. The examination had concluded and I was thoroughly disappointed, although I could barely feel the bludgeoning of my disappointment. Poe and I were deciding which bus stop was closer to where we were, and whether there were buses that could take us home. We decided eventually on the one ‘behind’ – behind what I do not know. We had to walk through the void deck of a tall building. As we were passing, some group of boys started approaching us. I immediately sensed hostility. They came to taunt us. I don’t remember if they had demanded anything else from us. But somehow I scared them off.
  3. We were trapped in large, lavish house. We needed to escape to somewhere, but outside there were zombies. We were just about to head off when Clara felt dizzy and ill, and fell to the ground. The others wanted to leave her behind, but I said we couldn’t. I called out to her, but she wouldn’t respond. So I heaved her onto my back and slung her arms over my shoulders. Instinctively, I knew that I would not have the strength to run with her weight on my back. Which was why I secretly made a request to the dream agent, hoping that they’ll lighten her. But as I took a step forward, I still felt the weight. I trudged forward and up a hill. Some zombies could already be seen. They staggered towards me and Clara, but did nothing to us. Instead they looked at us curiously as though there were something amiss.
  4. An old lady is seen sitting on the steps beyond which was a small but deep pond. Her two aqua-dogs were diving to the bottom where lied a peculiar plant. At the bottom, they were picking out any flower that grew. One of them picked out a flower whose color was not like the rest; it was dark and ghostly. When the aqua-dog brought it up to surface and placed it into the hands of the old lady, the flower seemed to have vanished. The old lady, reminded the dog with the affection of a gentle aunt, that she did not want flowerless stalks. The dog brought it back down in the water. But, behold, as soon as the stalk was submerged, the flower re-appeared, dark and ghostly as before. It was then a 7-seater car came into the drive way. Some little girls came running out as soon as the doors were opened. One of them looked disgruntled. It was a much younger Clara!
  5. And so swiftly did I realize the purpose of my entire dream.

The unfaithful man

I had a dream last night of waiting to marrying a person I didn’t completely love. It was the night of the wedding and I sat among some of the guests, my friends, talking to them before the ceremonies began. Some seats ahead of me was my bride-to-be. She too was talking to some of her friends. She seemed really excited; much more than I was. Every once in a while she would erupt in laughter and so would all her friends, although I could barely make out their faces – they were all blurs. I suppose the dream agent does not pay much attention to sculpting the faces of the less important characters. Who was truly important came into the frame a little later.

I think I knew from the beginning that I loved someone else; that whom I truly wished to be with was not the one presently in a white gown, but she, who has now sauntered to my side, as gay as ever. In the dream, only her face I could see clearly – all the rest were part of the gouache setting. I spoke to her by a window on the top floor of my house. We were staring out at the guests scattered across the courtyard. She was asking me excitedly how I felt. I feigned a little joy. Could I tell her that it was her whom I truly liked? What then? Nothing would come of that, only disaster and hurt and shame and disdain. But as I stood beside her, I imagined for a moment that the both of us were guests, and we would talk about our own marriage while watching the bride and the groom meander through a crowd full of smiles. Then, she walked off to join the rest. The procession was about to begin.

I was back beside my bride. I wouldn’t dare look at her. There was such a regret welling up inside of me that when a friend came up to congratulate me, I could barely bring myself to smile. It was as if I wanted him to see the misery brewing inside me. And that was the last thing I remembered, the last emotion I felt.

Meet me when you awake

Fancy meeting you here. Are you going to buy an elephant as well? I never thought I’d meet you here. You can have the grape one; I’m not quite fond of purple, and anyway, it suits you well. The last time I saw you in a purple dress, you looked absolutely ravishing. Actually why don’t I pay for yours as well? I know the shopkeeper, he’ll give me a discount. Besides, you don’t come here often, do you? It’s the first time I’m seeing you here. Always thought I’d be the only visitor. These are strange lands, aren’t they? Look around. There is nothing else but this shop house and these elephants; the edges of this space can barely be made out. And now, of course, there is you and I, as vivid as can be. Lean in close, I’ll whisper you a secret.

Of dreams

Have you ever had the sort of dream which you know, deep in your heart, you’ll never be able to capture? And thus at every opportunity that presents itself like a blossoming Cereus, you turn away; too afraid that if you extended your arms towards it, you shall find your fingers sweeping through the mist of a mirage. But you never do give up on the dream – you enjoy the reveries too much, and without it, life would seem to lose its flavor. It is tormenting, certainly. There is nothing you can do but to watch its exquisite form drift in the ether high above you. You wait patiently with clasped hands, comforted by hope and conceded to futility – oh, do you not know that you are only waiting for death?

Recounting dreams

I think we were talking about someone’s birthday party. I don’t remember what else went through the conversation. Then, in the turn of a second, I was outside the gates to a friend’s house. I glanced around for you, but you were no longer there. Perhaps you had gone home already; boarded the bus without my even noticing. Strange that I thought that way, since you don’t usually take the bus. As I was knocking on the gates, you appeared some distance from me; hurrying towards me. A little gladness swelled. You had on those sunglasses which you always wore. You told me that you didn’t know which bus to take home. I couldn’t recall the right one either. I took out my phone and opened Google Maps. It was utterly slow in loading. During this time, you —– and then my friends showed up, chuckling. Then, poof! Everything disappeared in the flash of the morning sun.


How delightful it would be if one could return every night to that wondrous dream he had on the previous; such that all the episodes strung themselves together and formed a distant, more pleasurable life than the organic one subsisting on reality. Perhaps we have had it wrong all this time; and life isn’t a crack of light between two eternities of darkness but a fissure that mars the landscape of an otherwise perfect otherworldly existence; and our dreams are merely portals to those forgotten fields of Elysium.