When I was a child, I dreamed a lot. Some I never got the chance to retell because they were blurry while others were too vivid that I can still remember them today. When my dreams became too scary and frightening for me, I just ran to my mommy and would tell her my dreams with it’s every detail. She, on the other hand, would patiently listen to my ramblings no matter how outrageous it may be. There were also times I would wake her up in the middle of the night just to tell my dreams. They seemed endless, like a river steadily streaming down to nowhere and I was compelled to tell for no particular reason. The weird part was, my nanny would scribble away in her diary afterwards. I never asked why.
Few years forward, I remember this one sunny afternoon when I felt so dizzy I need to sleep it off. I was about to see my friends so I tried to shake it off but to no avail. I ended up snoozing on the sofa. As usual, I dreamed. I dreamed of being in a car with my dad. I was talking incessantly and he was so intent on driving, like he never heard me. Everything seemed fine until an old man suddenly appeared in front of the car and my dad swerved sharply to avoid the old man. Unfortunately, we went off the road and down the cliff. I remembered meeting my dad’s sad eyes before my nanny woke me up after hearing me scream nonstop. She quickly brought me water to drink while I burst out the dream like a mad girl. As I calmed down, she told me never to tell anyone about this dream. My friends came and soon I forgot all about the dream I had. Only, when I got home, my nanny was sitting in the front porch waiting for me to come home and told me the news: that my father died in a car accident.
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