Broken Bow Strings

I woke up today to find out that I actually cried in my sleep? >.> pssh...

I dreamed that my sister Alisa, had allowed Alex to play with my precious violin without my permission and ended up snapping every bit of of the strings on the bow. I so got so angry and flustered that I ended up crying as if the violin meant so much to me, which it did, but returning back to present consciousness...i find it really stupid to cry over it like that, I'll get angry-yes but then I'll just buy a new bow then. I didn't know why my unconscious self would feel like like it lost something precious.

Telekinetic Turned Pyrokinetic

More than once I’ve dreamt of being telekinetic—someone with an ability to move objects with their mind. In the dream if often find myself showing this skill to my mother and I was using it on mere amusement tricks and silly little shows to impress her. In the dream it felt that only my mother knew of this ability and she was the only person that I show it to.

Last night was a different story. In the dream I had forgotten I had that ability. I was in a gigantic old library, with huge bookshelves that housed millions of books. There I was with my mother telling me to take my time in relearning that skill. And so I practiced and practiced until I got hold of it again. At first I had fun using it, making every little thing that I could see move from its original place. The next thing I know I telekinetically lifted up a piece of unwanted parchment and willed it to burn and so it did. I watched as it continued to burn as it hung in the air until nothing was left of it.

Then, as most dreams usually go, a quick change of scene took place. I saw little children playing in a quadrangle and teachers watching from afar. Yes I was in a school. As I stood there it felt like I was anticipating an incoming peril.

In another quick flash, the scenes changed. The children were running and the adults, my mother being one of them, were trying their best to guide the children to a safer place away from the quadrangle. Amidst all the panic that surrounded me and my confusion coupled with fear, I heard a voice, it seemed like little boy was calling out to me in my mind. He said something like he was being sought after not wanting to be taken away. The trees began to catch fire and I suddenly found myself tuning out the fire that had started from tree to tree but then it would again quickly ignite once more. I tried my hardest with my mind and will to bid the flames to rest.

Another flash, I had found the boy who called out to me in my mind, but was surprised to find that the boy was actually grown up.

Another flash, and I found myself and the boy running away from something. We ran into a building and I met my mother along with my mom’s secretary from the office who suited us up as if in preparation for what seemed like a drop off from an airplane….

After that I woke up with a sheepish look thinking how stupid that dream was….. >.>

[翼] Wings

One night I awoke into a dream where I lay face down upon an invisible ground and my body felt heavy as if something heavy was pushing it down. There was nothing in sight and everything around me was white. From the floor, to the walls and everything above was a white void. It was as if I was the only existent being in this white-tinted world.

Then, as if without warning, my bare shoulders began to twitch and pain raised through my whole body. Blood quickly began to pool around me, I felt it drip from my back and I began to feel a sharp sting from the skin on my back. Like a plant that breaks out from under the soil, feathers—sharp feathers, stained with my blood, burst fourth from underneath my skin, a slow and extremely painful torture at first. Then, in one swift momentum it shot out with excruciating pain enough to make me cry out in a sharp deafening scream. After that moment everything felt numb and I blacked out.

When I came to, I felt I was back in my own bed with my head facing down on my pillow. The gentle hum of the AC filled the room. I slowly opened my eyes and I breathed out a muffled sigh. I used my hands to push me up in bed. Expecting to see my stuffed sleeping companion, I turned to look sideways but there, blocking my view, were the tips of what seemed to be feathered wings that cascaded upon me like an umbrella, its roots firmly connected to the bones on my back. As my eyes widened, I gave out a gasp in shock and as if in response I felt the wings shudder in accordance to how I felt. It was as if they had become a part of my body.

The next thing I knew I woke up for real this time, literally jumping out of my bed and tapping my back frantically to see if anything was there. Gladly there was none…

Taking Flight

As a child I often dreamed of flying. In the first dream, having the ability to fly and soaring through different heights but it always ends up as me having lost the ability to do so. During the following dreams, the same thing happens but in a different place and with different people and as always, in the end like some predestined script written for a play I slowly loose the ability to do so and I try my hardest to get the ability to fly back with the help of those people around me. But then after that I end up getting woken up by someone and never finishing the dream—never knowing if I was able to acquire the ability again.

The Beginning of a Dream Journal

“Sis?” I called out from the shower to my sister who was out in the bedroom getting dressed.

“Hmm?”

“What kind of dreams do you have?” I asked.

“What?”

“What kind of dreams do you have?” I asked again raising my voice just a tad bit louder , enough to be able to pass through the thin sliding door that separated the bathroom from the bedroom that my sister and I both shared. “Are they realistic? Or completely fantasy?”

“What do you mean realistic or fantasy?” came her reply. “By fantasy you mean like fairies?” she asked. I knew that my sister—a book enthusiast who has read a wide variety of genres ranging from the classics, to fantasy/adventure, to spiritual/religious, thrillers/mystery, and even self-help books since before I was born—would eventually ask this question.

“By realistic I mean, are they events that usually happen or are possibly going to happen in real life—by the way I’m using your shampoo, thanks!” I explained as I poured the shampoo on my head in a slapdash fashion and then continued, “or are they completely fantasy —you know events that seem utterly impossible to happen in reality.”

“Realistic ones,” she replied. “Usually about what I’m thinking or keep on thinking about. Like about work, I usually think of things that have to do, then, in my dream, I dream that I’m already doing it.”

“Hmn,” I muttered in a concurrent tone. It was all I could utter after hearing her answer. Good for you sis, I thought. My desire to discuss with her about the dreams I’ve been having began to drift away. It would seem wholly awkward and strange to ask someone who’s had completely realistic dreams, about surreal happenings that went on in other people’s subconscious as they slept.

I used to wonder myself why my dreams more often than not are mostly peculiar. They were not things that I had thought of before I went to bed, some are even things that I haven’t encountered, and yet they stubbornly appear in my dreams and continue to amuse, to baffle and to interest me. More so these dreams are not something that I can control. Unlike the minority who have the ability to control their dreams (my best friend, according to her, was one of those people) in a ‘Lucid Dream’ state, wherein a person can manipulate what dreams they are going to have and be able manipulate the things that go about during the dream, I on the other hand belong to the majority whose dreams come and go as they please and have no definite schedule when they will be surfacing.

The dreams I have are completely peculiar. They sometimes possess similar elements, similar characters, but each time a different story. Last night was only one of many episodes—a continuation of a certain dream that I began having since about four months ago, more specifically after my 20th birthday.

Dreams, much like illusions, seem perfectly real. They seem to have definitely existed and yet once you awake from that dream they eventually fade from your memory. With this thought in mind, I decided to put recent dreams into writing.