I have always wondered what dreams are; and there have always been many answers. From imagination to alternate dimension, I have heard and understood a lot of explanations. I still remain dissatisfied though.
I often find myself coming back to what my grandmother told me about them. When I was a little girl, I felt a spurt of energy as soon as my mother said it was time for bed, almost as if on cue. It was difficult to put me to sleep. My grandmother would often come to my mother’s rescue. She would tell me that when we sleep we get to dream; and dreams are places we are not able to go to when we are awake.
I loved that idea. I remember visiting Disneyland once. I remember going to a park with my father. I remember standing on a mountaintop where I stood till the stars came out. But as I grew up, my dreams were not so bright; were not so happy.
I remember been chased by a scorpion. I remember travelling on a deserted road at night in a bus with only me and a driver inside, whose vacant eyes never left me.
Today as I stand in this small, dark room with a stranger inside, I wonder what dreams really mean. I look at the man in the corner, I can hardly see him but I am trying to make out what he is doing. I hoped he would have an answer really. But he just stares ahead. I am trying understand his expression, his body language or anything really to know what is on his mind. I squint my eyes to look for any familiarity but I find none. It is too dark in here.
I know that when we walked in here the room was a green valley. Stars and moon hung in celebration. It is just empty now.
I wait for it to be over. When the alarm sets off, I open my eyes. My husband sleeps beside me. The man in here and the room itself too is more familiar but I am still waiting for my dream to end.
Maybe at times dreams are the manifestation of a reality we don’t want to see.