Of Dreams and Yearnings

i was at a farmer's market pushing an empty shopping cart. that must be from Food Inc. The producers recommended that we shop at local farmer's markets rather than at large supermarket chains.

there were samples for tasting in the bread aisles. i tried the babka and it was mildly sweet. that must be from looking through the bread section in McCall's Cooking School manual before i went to bed.

i looked in all the bread bins but there were no babkas left. somebody said they must be sold out. that must be from work. anything that goes on sale on friday is sold out by sunday.

someone came up to me from behind and grasped my shoulders. i didn't know who it was but i let her hug me and touch her cheek to mine. i felt the familiar softness of my mom's skin. i smelled the gentle perfume of her night time lotion. i felt my chest squeezed by how much i miss her. this must be from reading a text message from her the day before.

i don't know who this person is but she feels just like Mama so i let her hold me.

i turned around and it was her. Mama. between sobs and tears she tells me that everyone is back. we walk arm in arm down the street. my twenty-nine year old sister at age twenty came towards us. her husband and daughter doesn't exist and her cheeks had the blush that only innocence can give.

the men of our family waited by the car. it's a familiar scene. it's one of those nights when we're just returning from a special dinner somewhere. everybody is satiated and longing for bed but reluctant to bring the evening to an end. we jostle into the backseat, hear the engine hum to life and doze to my parents' quite conversation on the drive home.

this distant memory of a childhood ritual somehow made it into my dream last night.

The Dream

I had a dream about some family friends that was as disturbing as it was mind-boggling.

In the dream, the father was mercilessly kicking the wife, who had her arms around her daughter in a protective hug. She resolutely stared at the floor, grimacing with each blow but not making any attempt to run away from the attack. Her stance had the certainty that the assault would end soon. All she had to do was to weather it. It will be over soon.

I stood at a distance as one witnessing a dirty family secret finally being exposed.

That family I saw in that dream resembled nothing of the family that I know in real life. The father is most loving and the mother has the vocal disposition of someone who shall and will never stand passively in the face of violence against herself or her child. The dream was completely false and I know that.

Yet it disturbs me so much. I felt as if I’d been divulged a secret through that dream. Although it was completely false, I felt as if it was inspired by some measure of truth. I can normally trace every aspect of my dream to some occurrence I had witnessed or experienced during the day, even the ones that didn’t make any sense.

Had I witnessed something that hinted of abuse within the family? A discrete shove, a secret glare of disapproval or a quick ducking behind someone’s back after a wrong doing? Is there a truth to that dream that’s hiding somewhere in the recesses of my mind? Are there pieces of a puzzle that are waiting to be put together?

Perhaps this is just a matter of my brain firing off the wrong signals in the wrong sequence. Perhaps there is a truth to that dream that evades me. Perhaps its truth is too ugly and my defence mechanisms kick in whenever I come close to uncovering it.

Monday Night's REM display

Reporter jabs his mic in my chest
'Do you care?' he asks
'Specifically about what?' I say
He jabs the mic into my chest
I took a step back
and fell into the sea below
Since the water was muddy
I thought it right to follow the current
My friend the whale finally swam by
He had a card that said he's my twin
I asked him 'How do you know?'
He said he didn't
But I might be too big for him to swallow
The only way for us all to know
is for him to let me go
and watch me grow
'If I do that, will you come back
and tell me "I told you so?"'
I told him I would
He gave me a ride back to the cliff
I climbed up into the news conference
Reporter jabs his mic again
'Do you care?' he asks
I don't know if I care
I might try to find out
if I care to find out
but now I have an appointment
with my friend the whale
the twin that gave me a ride to the cliffs

yours truly,
Lily the dilated pupil

Sweet dreams

I had a recurring dream as a child which left me painfully baffled until I learned what dreams are made of. Unlike the recurrent dreams of adulthood, this one is always pleasant. Towards the end of every dream, when morning light starts to penetrate my eyelids and my dad's voice begins to pull me back into reality, my dream would ebb away with a trail of candy. The feel of the little sweets in my palms causes my to hurriedly wake up so I can savor them. Of course, I'd see that my hands were empty and there was only the mute morning light laughing at my silliness. For a long time I tried to fathom the mystery of my dream candy. One moment they were there in my palms and I distinctly felt the crisp wrappers prickling my girl-child skin. Then I blinked myself back into the sphere of conciousness and they were gone. By that age I'd already undestood that dreams stay in that world you visit when you're too tired to deal with the one you're in. This one, however, got me chasing it because I physically felt the candy in my hands. Being five years old, I thoroughly understood the importance of candy and any candy left uneaten is almost as sinful as sin itself. I wanted so much to atone for that sin that I often tried to will myself back to sleep. That is, until the day intervened and play and bath and friends and dolls became priority and I forgot about the dream until the next time it came visiting, inevitably leaving with another trail of candy for me to pursue.

Qiamat

Chaos. I was running around like everyone else. Neighbours next door came up with the idea of making crucifix with anything they can get their hands on. We're Muslims. Would 'Allah' on a piece of board suffice? I grab my denims from the clothes hanger at the door, chose a scarf,and rushed to get dressed. Does it matter if my clothes match?
Ya'jud and Ma'jud were coming.
Omar and Abah came back with the news. The eleventh hour is up. They would be here any minute. Omar keep going on about how the insides of our car was scratched through, scratched from inside. My blood runs cold.I try to tell Omar that it's too late for a shower. Just get dressed and be ready. I grab a butter knife and a fork and shove it into my pockets, muttering praises to Allah, hoping, praying for protection. I was shaking with fear.
I have no idea what we were up against. None of us are, not even Mama. This is a part of the chain of events leading up to jugdment day, I know that. Are we going to live through it? Should we fight this coming evil with force or diplomacy? Physical strength or religious submission?
I look out the window to catch the shadow sweeping the entire earth. A man standing alone looks at his feet, confused.
They are here. Run.
Mama stands behind the door instead of going to hide in the room with me. She bravely tells me that she will face whatever is coming head-on. We both know it, neither of us said it. She was going to die and she's using herself as a shield for the rest of us. Good bye, Mama.
Mama, of all things, laughs at me. She tells me there's nothing to be afraid of, we don't even exactly know what we're up against. Might not even be as bad as it seems. From the way I'm shaking, I might as well be dead already. The house grows dark.I wanted so much to believe her. I look in the mirror and prayed hard that any minute, I'd wake up from this nightmare. But it's like praying for rain when you know, most definitely, there's no chance of rain whatsoever and you'll just have to weather the scorching sun no matter what.
This is real. It is no dream.
I watch the corridor for signs of their approach. They are here.
And I wake up, predictably, to the setting sun....
Alhamdulillah....

Terrible Dream

I'm feeling rather ragged.
I'm feeling rather rough.
I'm looking like I stayed up late,
and didn't sleep enough.
I went to sleep at bedtime
and dreamt all through the night,
but when I woke this morning
I was feeling far from right.
For though I drifted quickly,
and slumbered long and deep,
I'm totally exhausted
'cause I dreamed I couldn't sleep!

--Kenn Nesbitt