I’ve been dreaming of death.
I’ve always been dreaming about it
actually. I dreamt of my grandparents’ death, which was a nightmare until my
late grandfather actually died. When I found out that those nightmares didn’t
came true, just that death is inevitable, the dreams became just unpleasant
visits. I’ve also been dreaming about the death of my own parents, my siblings,
and my friends. These people are those that I do care about, so it’s disturbing
to see them die one night, and seeing them alive the next.
When I started university, the image became
even more vivid, although it wasn’t as frequent. Maybe I was too busy to care,
maybe I was trying not to find Elle for comfort. Honestly, I don’t know. I
didn’t really think of why. I was just trying to move forward.
I guess it was easy during teenage years. I
could blame all my nightmares on the little troubles my young self couldn’t
cope with. I could depend on Elle, I could – I’m not sure, but it was
definitely easier then. The dreams were non-stop, but it was much easier then.
I don’t have it every day. Maybe I’m too
ill to dream. It’s me this time.
I felt like I’m living in a different
setting, one that ends tragically every day. And then I woke up to find out
that I’m still alive, and it was just a dream. It was not me who was robbed, it
wasn’t me who was stabbed, or stalked, or skinned. It wasn’t me in an unhappy
marriage. It wasn’t me conspiring in some sort of black market deal. I wasn’t
the politician, or the next-door neighbour plotting on destroying her
neighbour’s business. I woke up, and I’m not any one of those.
I couldn’t decide if I am relieved that
those dreams aren’t real or terrified that I dreamt of it.
Somewhere between
the confusion is just the me who wanted so much to cry for tears that won’t
come out and for Elle that has never existed.
I’m really just tired.
Ah, it’s time for Subuh prayer. Pray all these come to end.
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