Dreams

I'm used to having weird, realistic dreams.  There were ridiculous ones, like standing in limbo surrounded by gigantic floating noses when I had a runny nose.  Another one about the ghost of the mother of a friend I hadn't seen since forever visiting me in my bedroom spooked me for days (her mother is still alive and well, thankfully).  Months ago, I dreamt about the end of the world in the form of the moon striking the earth, regenerating itself, striking the earth again, and repeating the cycle for a total 27 times before I (thank God!) woke up.  The image of the moon steadily growing bigger in the dark night sky until it was the sky itself, the ground quaking beneath my feet from the impact, and the sight of people scurrying everywhere were so vividly imprinted in my mind I was traumatised the whole next day.

They all paled in comparison to the dream I had yesterday.

It started out fine and real, as my dreams always do.  Minutes after my dream started though (or what felt like minutes in my dream), my dream self received the news that my dad had just died in a car crash *crosses fingers*.  I was shocked.  I couldn't stop thinking of all the things I should have done to him while he was alive.

It was days (I think) after the news when I looked out of my home one day and saw, to my utmost disbelief, a fuzzy figure that eerily resembled my dad walking towards me.  I blinked, utterly certain that there was something wrong with my eyes, but instead of becoming clearer, the figure fuzzed even further, kind of like static on the television.  I stood stock-still until the figure was right in front of me.

There was no mistake - it was my dad.  A semi-transparent, fuzzy version of my dad.

I remembered panicking in my head, wondering whether I should be afraid, to ask questions, or to simply run.  In the end, what I did was reach up my hands to touch my dad's, half-expecting my fingers to pass right through his.  Instead, I felt warm, solid fingers locking with mine, and I was so amazed the next thing I did was throw my arms around my dad.  The feeling of comforting arms winding tightly around me was one of the best feelings in the world.

My dad was back in my life, my family.

It didn't occur to my dream self to wonder why nobody else was even remotely surprised to see my dad back (don't ask, it's another one of those dream things that make no sense).  All that mattered was that my dad was back, and I could appreciate him like I never did when he was still alive.

Happy days passed.  Slowly, though, my dream self realised that my dad wasn't back for good.  I tried asking, but he wouldn't divulge when he would disappear.  I didn't want that to happen, of course, but there was nothing I could do.  Every time he fuzzed, my heart would skip a beat.  The only thing I could do was stick close to him and enjoy his company for as long as I could.

And then I woke up.

Dreams like this always leave me disoriented in the mornings, wondering whether they were reality or merely a work of my insane mind.  So there was a bleary moment after I woke up when I actually believed the dream to be real.  I hope I never have to return to that bleak, wistful reality ever again (sometimes I have recurring dreams, or follow-up dreams too).

Here's to hoping for sweet dreams tonight.

Going home...?

              I remember when I was just a first year here.  Floundering my way around, surviving through yellowish water and mediocre facilities, dragging myself to this and that event just to earn enough merits to secure myself a hostel room for next year.  Most importantly, while I had friends and kind seniors helping my very befuddled self, I didn’t have a real sense of belonging.  Second year is much better; I have one side of a double room totally to myself, I know (a majority of) my way around by now, and though life is busier now that I’m actually part of the people in charge of events and organisations instead of only a participant like last year, I finally feel like a part of my university.

                But still, I inwardly cringe every time someone says ‘I’m going home’, with home referring to their hostel room.

                It shouldn’t be a big deal, really.  For most people, saying ‘going home’ is just a figure of speech, as in going back to the place they are currently staying in.  Some people can even carelessly toss out ‘going home’ when they mean returning to their hotel.

                I have never ever referred to my hostel room as ‘home’.  I recall a friend commenting, “I can never think of this place as ‘home’,” during my first semester here as a freshman.  I don’t know if she still thinks that way, but I know I do.  Home is, for me, a place I can freely do whatever I want, say whatever I want, go bananas whenever I feel like it, and know that my family will accept me unconditionally whatever I do.  This is not the case here.  No matter how close and relaxed I am with my friends, they are still people who have only known me for slightly more than a year (most of them, anyway).  I cannot pick a fight with them like I sometimes do with my younger sister just because I feel like it.  I cannot reject their invitations as bluntly as I do with my family.  There are social conventions to follow, and repercussions if I do not.  There is no such thing as ‘unconditional acceptance’ here.

                Nevertheless, they are awesome friends who I have a lot of fun with, who have helped me through countless situations, who are there when I need them.  They may never be able to replace my family, but they are great people to spend time with while I am away from home.  So...  I may not consider this campus my home, may never consider it that way, but it is a sanctuary, a 'home away from home', as they say.  And it is enough.

Colours of My Life

                Red is the colour of the fire extinguisher outside my room, the first thing I see every day when I open my door.  Orange is the kin of sunny yellow, the tint of my feelings when I successfully complete a gruelling assignment.  Yellow is the sound of my friends' laughter, and the sound of my laughter along with them.  Green is the colour I search for in the cafeteria, and murky green is the hue I always get.  Blue can be found all over my hostel room, splashed on my bedspread, my pinboard, my laptop.  Indigo is the theme colour of my university, a proud identification of my status as an undergraduate of USM.  Violet is the shade I hope I never see coming out of the water taps.  A rainbow is many things; a work of nature, the colours of the Malaysian food pyramid - and the colours of my life.