Sup3rnality

Friday afternoon. I am home after the weekly journey of railway transportations that, while too routine to be exciting, has never lost its flavour. Did not sleep much the night before, too occupied with the literature available at my disposal. Home meant rest, and I looked forward to taking full advantage of that.

Rest meant a cozy affair with pillows surrounding me, luring me into the arms of sleep. And so it did.

We dream. We all do. Every single time we sleep long enough to enter upon REM sleep, we dream. Even if we do not remember, we actually do. And for me, those dreams that seem the most real, the ones that I remember the most are the ones that are born of fatigue and weariness. And I remembered this one.

It's been a long time since I've had ones like this. The kind that you not only remember, but dwell on for days. And it's been a long time that such dreams were of lighthearted, heart-fluttering joy.

Too often have my dreams been of me leading a war; a leader on the frontlines tackling enemies head on alongside my legion, death on my heels. It scares me sometimes when the dream includes me looking into the wardrobe and thinking what I want to be wearing when I die fighting. Thinking of a million ways to say goodbye to my family. Trying to come to terms with my impending death.

And so the dream brought upon by tiredness was a reprieve from all the other typical dreams I would so often have. This was one that made me feel like I was 16 again.

And I can't tell exactly the contents of this dream. It's nothing that can be explained with words.

And words are never enough.

But I remember the feeling. It's like being 16, and 22 and 13 all at once. 16 for such mature immaturity, the memories the dream echoed and rekindled, and for the brink and bridge to fall from and to cross. 22 for the realization of more and the recognition of possibility, with slight juvenile mischief that is still present, but with the maturity of reason. And 13 for a more carefree time and a memory I have of a certain day at that age. Splashing water comes to mind. Clothes. Sandals. Change. Keys. Gate. Falling. Support. Hands. Breaking. Catching. Throwing. Laughter. Thanks.

The dream was brief. Yet real enough to have me checking my side when I awoke. I was disappointed with what I found, or did not find. But I still have a smile on my face.

And I still wonder what dreams really are. What they entail. Does it hold any knowledge we have yet to tap into? we'll never know for sure. But the future stretches far into the distance, maybe we'd find out along the way.

Yours, Lin~

Looking at my friends, be it the ones I've known for a long time or just these past few years, ones I see often or the ones whom I've not for years; I am constantly amazed at how much they've changed over the years. Thinking of how I first got to know them and where we are now present time, it never cease to amaze me just how fast the clock is ticking.

And I feel like I've been at a standstill. Seeing people around me evolve when all I've done is turn my head away for a little while. And I feel like I'm in the eye of a storm, so silent and still when all around everything is spinning so fast. But I know, the truth is I'm spinning fast too.
It's easy to see the change in others. Easier to see how the time has forced those I know to turn into familiar strangers. But looking into the mirror, I know that I haven't stopped spinning either.

Never in the past would I have envisioned that I'd be this present person. It's hard to begin to explain what got me where I am now. Experiences changed me little by little: scratched the surface and planted seeds. Pulled them out and made them hollow. Violated and left them broken. Stunting them in the dark. Let it grow under the bright sun. Watered them and let them bloom. And I cannot be what I am without any of those things I've been through. I'll never change them memories for anything.

I've been a child, a teenager (yes, I still hate the word and it cannot roll off my tongue without feeling odd and leaving a bad aftertaste; but that's the best word to use), and now a woman (and I can't grasp this one either. Still so much in accepting-denial. I know what I am, and I've always been one to count the days I'd no longer be considered a child, but the future is staring straight at me and for the first time, I feel actually scared). No wait, I am all of them; I AM a child, a teenager and a woman. And importantly: I'm a daughter, a sister, and a friend.
Those are the things that never change.

My experience may change me. Alters beliefs and principles and thinking and mannerisms and outlook and a thousand other things. But I remain to be what I am.

Love, Lin~

I wouldn't admit it. Not vocally, anyway. But I am. Fine, I admit it, I am... shhh, don't say it. Saying gives it gravity. Makes it weighty. Makes me fall harder than I expect to. Saying it gives it life, substantiates it in some way, even if you can't touch it. But the truth is that it still lies true. I am. I don't show it but I am.

Occupation sometimes loses its flavour when you turn around and see ghosts. There is comfort yet there also is the yawning silence that rings loudly in the quiet. And in those times I find myself knocking on doors. Doors which I thought kept life within, but no one answers.

Maybe it wouldn't be for long, I sometimes think. I've gotten this far in life, and I suppose that I'll find it, or find it again somehow. One cannot tell. Too early to say anyway. But that's how it is, isn't it? The future seems to be looming near, and yet too far to touch. And while it is too far, it is coming uncomfortably fast, ready to hit me in the face when I least expect it to.

And while I wouldn't admit it, and at the same time nonchalantly see things through; I am deaf in the vacuum. And sometimes it gets to me so much I find myself conversing with apparitions. I am, you know. I am so much. And I miss it. Great muppety Odin, I miss late nights when all is still except for that quick rush that runs through.

And that, might not ever be. But I wouldn't be surprised if blue-haired old me would stumble on it again and find it as it was. But that's wishful thinking.

So I am. It comforts me. But it hurts me. But who knows? The future is around the corner.

Yours, Lin~