The Dream

I knew it. The moment I opened my eyes, I knew it was too realistic to be fictitious. Indeed, I tried to withdraw back into my shell but after struggling with sheer tenacity alone, I gave up. And then it hit me like never before that I was still weak; and my will, I presumably realized was still as flimsy as a piece of rotten wood - where even the slightest touch would cause it to fall apart.

I awoke sweating. What on earth have I been doing besides causing myself trouble? "I am at peace" or so I would like to convince myself. It was then I felt a sudden chill down my spine. The feeling of apprehension could have been so easily tossed aside but my intuition, perhaps, prevented me from doing so. And for a very good reason, I believe. The house of memories that I've tried so hard to hide from the world, had started to crumble within me until nothing's left but rubbles and debris. I sometimes wonder, why must the human mind be so easily tempted into producing projected images of our deepest fears? How does something, so ludicrous as a chill in the spine, threaten my self-made peace of hardwork. One's greatest comfort, after all, is to live in the blanket of self-denial.

I'm no damsel in distress, I'd like to remind you. I abhor the idea of depending on others for our own selfish needs. I detest the fact that I still turn to others when situation arises - even with all those proclaimations. Whenever I look into the mirror, I see a grotesque figure staring back at me. The eyes, in particular, had caught my attention without my full-realization of it. It's funny how one could lose sight of everything, even time, when one becomes too enraptured by something. I peered closely and noticed the eyes showed no sign of childlike innocence or gentleness that it once possessed. All that's left was weariness and emptiness. In other words, it is the eyes in which one would usually associate it to - the eyes of the dead. But the real question here is: What had she gone through to become like that?

"Is that girl really me?", I asked myself, over and over again, like some sort of chant. "If that is so, I refuse to allow myself to become like that. Not now, not ever!" And with that, I woke up to my newfound resolve.

Now and then, when I think back, I wonder what did that dream really meant? Was it a sign to prevent me from walking on the path of self-destruction or was it just mere dream? Either way, I'm equally thankful. For hope was once again restored before my very eyes and it was all due to that realistically drawn dream.