just a dream

Because I have so many things to say, or rather, because I have nothing to say, I am now sharing not what’s happening in my life, but what happened in my dream last night.

It was a weird dream. Or at least I do not know what to make of it. I was in a coffee shop with people I know, but only as acquaintances. Even while we were on the open area, the temperature was cold for my tolerance. Then I saw a childhood friend, the one I’ve been with when I was in LA last April, and it seemed like we and some friends have a plan that night. So I went with them and walked around the neighborhood of houses with no fences.

As we were walking, they wanted to have cigarettes, and I volunteered to buy for them at the nearest 711. When I got there, the store was full of African Americans, those that looked like gangsters; I wondered why but did not give it much thought. At the cashier, I asked for a pack of cigarette, and when he was asking for payment, I was surprised that he was asking for dollars! I panickingly searched through my pouch, and all I have are peso bills!

I didn’t know I was in America. I had no idea how I got there; I have neither briefcases nor extra clothes. I had no idea why I was there; I have no reason to be there.

I guess we speak to ourselves through our dreams. They say that dreams were born of inner desires. If I have to make something out of it, perhaps it is that I need a break, again. Or I want to disappear, again, among people strangers to me, in a far, far away land…

photo from the web

Then again, it might be just a dream.