Hey, Morpheus!

Not many people remember their dreams when they wake up. I do not know the reason for this, and have speculated "other things to do" and "wanting to have sex" to quell my desire for an explanation. Nothing ever does, however. Nonetheless, I am one of those people who have no clue as to what my dream was about. Except perhaps waking up in cold sweat, or to the feeling of thick, sticky moisture in my pants.

Last night, I had a dream which I remember vividly, even until now. It was one of those dreams that felt like a dream within a dream. It was a dreamer's dream. Much like how politicians politicize to open casinos. The freakier thing is that the dream touched on all the issues bugging me as a troubled 19-year-old. ALL of them.

Last night, I stayed over in camp. I slept in an over-conditioned affair of an office. It was cold enough to freeze hell, and then some.

It took me awhile to fall asleep - I started lying down at 11pm last night and as of 2:34 am earlier this morning, I was still tossing and turning like a boat unwanted by the discriminating ocean. Eventually though, my restlessness consumed the remaining vestiges of my energy, and my eyelids took my consciousness to another world...

I was standing on the cobbled walkways of some European country, very much the tourist in these whereabouts. Somehow, somewhere, the song Walk Away by Franz Ferdinand played, as though telling me I was in Austria. Or have I just been listening to the song too many times? Or was the song actually significant in the message of this dream? Or was the dream just a meaningless dream? Bah, let's just see how it goes...

The love of my life ran through my mind, every footstep she makes upon the realm of my cerebrum gave off a wonderous musical note, all of them combining to form the most melodious music. The music was a flowery, colourful burst, which warmed my mind and my heart and the rest of my being.

"Mascara bleeds a blackened tear..."

I turned to whoever it was rudely singing while I was wistfully thinking about the girl I loved. And there, on a stage on the cobbled pathways, was Franz Ferdinand, singing Walk Away. I looked around. I was the only one in that street. Well, besides those Austrian-named Scots, of course. Yet, I had no sense of loneliness or isolation. Which was weird, for I had lived with an innate sense of loneliness and isolation for the past 5 years.

I looked back at Franz Ferdinand. They were dissolving into a red-gold mass of goo, and Walk Away was dissolving into distortion. All this while, I stood motionless, overwhelmed.

The goo existed for a few seconds only, for after that, it began to solidify again, and there, on the stage that was a stage before it became stage-goo but is now a stage again, was the band I've supported since I was 11 - Oasis. There, frontstage, was the only guy I ever idolised - Liam Gallagher - and he was backed up by the latest members of Oasis - with Zak Starkey (Ringo Starr's son, bitch!) on drums. My throat was dry, and my heart dropped a few thousand feet, as the music kickstarted and the band played Wonderwall. At that time, I felt like there was no void inside me - I had no missing piece. Nonetheless, my heart found the space to drop a few thousand feet.

"I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now..."

That was when, after a 7 year hiatus, Tommy reappeared in my head. Tommy was my imaginary friend from when I was 12, and he had disappeared after drowning in my cereal (which I stopped eating to perform an imaginary-manhunt). I never found his body, but I never saw or heard from him ever since. Now, he was standing in front of me like he did 7 years earlier. He had the same scruffy brown hairdo, and was still wearing red leather from top to bottom. In his hand was the same never-decomposing drumstick which he used to perform his magical tricks. Today however, he was naked of one of his most regularly-worn apparel: a big wide grin that reflected all the schemes that were exploding into existence inside his head. Today his handsome face was stiff with a sombre, icy expression. I could not say anything to it. Or the rest of his body, for that matter.

"No use thinking about her, Suffy. I believe that nobody feels the way you do about her. And that statement has been valid for 3 years now," Tommy said, pepper-spraying the face of 7-year Hiatus Explanations in the process.

"Tommy..." I muttered, not knowing what to say to the friend whose existence I had grown to dismiss as 'a figment of my imagination. Either that, or Tommy's new sombre, serious persona was something I found too...un-Tommy.

"You know I bet you had your chance somewhere in those 3 years, but you blew it. And you know you can make her happy," Tommy said. Then, he gave a sigh that robbed me of my happy thoughts. So many happy thoughts gone - it was the kind of happy thoughts-absence that was incapable of being remedied by anything less than a carton of Godiva chocolates. "You know Suffy, I learnt two things as I watched you this past 7 years. One - your wanking technique's brilliant. Two - Fate moves in mysterious ways."

"Well, so does a three-legged magpie trying to play guitar. It's not exactly beautiful."

There was a loud, deep Cluck! - the kind of Cluck! one would imagine the King of Chickens would make - which I last heard 7 years ago. I looked down at Tommy's drumstick, and saw that it had sprouted wings. Tommy had performed a spell, and I swallowed hard, hoping it wasn't something particularly...nasty.

"I have nothing to say to you for now. Just think of what I am going to show you." I managed to process that statement in my head before my entire vision was filled with red and gold and black and white, and my handphone twirling in all that colour.

I woke up and found myself atop a hill, overlooking all of Singapore. Geographically impossible of course, but so is Dolly Parton's chest, and there you have it. At least this geography exists only in my dreams. The next thing I was aware of was a pressure on my left arm. I turned and saw The Love Of My Life (let's call her P from now on, shall we?) clutching my arm, tight. She was crying, something I have never seen her do. I hugged her, warm feelings coursing through my body.

I said, "Hey come on don't cry, P. I'm here." In the distance, running up the hill, I saw a giant cigarette running toward us, arms wide open to hug the both of us. No I thought. Not needed, baby.

I kissed her forehead, my heart racing. I shifted my head to see how she would react...

I bolted up, and found myself back in the office, awake and sweating in the freezing cold, a vague feeling of disappointment seeded in my heart.