Decided to hit the sack early tonight after the birthday dinner of my dad was over. Had been working nonstop since 9:00a.m. and missed the chance to hit the gym, so was sort of feeling hungry for some what-i-want time. Sadly, things didn't pan out as I hoped, and in an attempt to salvage what I could, I decided to try to sleep instead.
It is 3:46a.m. right now as I type this. Barely five minutes ago, I woke up breathing rapidly with tears in my eyes. All because of a stupid dream. Yes, a dream.
And I knew it was a dream from the start, but damn, it hit me bad.
Was in this condo unit of a friend's, but not any existing condo unit I ever saw in my life. It was a spacious studio type room, with the door situated at the center of the eastern wall. Upon stepping in, one can see right of the entrance door the dining table, refrigerator, a wall covered with photographs and newspaper/magazine clippings and a small shelf housing the favorite books. On the opposite end of the room, the bathroom corner (frosted glass column in the corner, toilet and sink beside it. The folded blocky mattress couch that also served as the bed, the tiny shelves beside it for the important stuff, and at the far western wall, numberous polyboxes (those translucent kinds sold in Dimensione) housing the personal effects, clothes, etc.
I was there because he had passed away, and his family had asked me to help handle the guests who were coming in.
We helped tidy the place up. The brothers were prepping the food, juices and peanut butter squares that were to be served. The dad, unable to do much, just stared at the photos on the wall. I approached, told him we could handle things, and he just smiled. I guess he was happy I was there.
The whole time I knew this was a dream, and guiltily, I didn't force myself awake. The whole thing just felt strange and yet... I just couldn't help but want to "help out."
Guests came, and occasionally I'd show them around, if the brothers were preoccupied. Usually would go around first, showing the room a bit, then going to my friend's remains, which were not physically present in the room. Instead, this beautiful artistic abstract painting of sorts served as a "symbol" of his presence in the room. Right now as I type, I can't recall what happened, but I sort of vaguely recall it was one of those kinds where either the remains could not be found, or were best not made visible or cremated.
Finally, this group arrives, much more noisy than most. From their snippets I catch they just learned their friend had passed on and were anxious to pay their respects. The dad was busy and motioned me to receive them, so I walked up to them and asked them if they were here to pay respects to my friend.
They were. So I let them in and showed them around.
One pipes in, "So, ikaw ba ang big bro niya?"
"Ay.. sorry, no. I'm just his friend," I reply.
"Hinde," sabi niya ulit, "Big bro ang tawag niya sa..."
Hesitation. I read his companion's lips as he completes the sentence for the speaker. "..maging ka date niya." And I find myself saying, even as my voice cracks and fails me, "Hindi rin. Hindi ako umabot man lang diyan."
And I wake up.
Grabe, now typing this I feel so weirded out by it. The emotional weight of that moment is still strangely there. Parang I recall crying over a lost friend hours ago, but now feel calm and collected. But at the same time, I know I didn't do any such thing, and that I was just having a dream. So weird. Chest feels heavy and I find myself sighing to relax, but at the same time I don't really know of any reason I should really feel this way.
Hay grabe, Morpheus. Ibang klase ka mag trip, ah!