What Dreams May Come..

I took off all the posters on my wall mercilessly...some of those sticky notes as well on which were written the randomest of things ever thought of. I don't know why I was in such a hurry. I shoved my stuff in some suitcase..ended up with a couple of handbags as well. I walked out of my room only to find absolutley no one around. I waited but for some reason, the whole campus is deserted. Zilch. I pulled along with my stuff trying to spot a face, familiar or otherwise -anyone..but cannot. I reached the end of hostel corridors and the last I remember is turning back to still expect someone, anyone. I wake up.

And this was not it..I have been having the weirdest of dreams for the past few days. Not so normal for someone who is used to a dreamless sleep for a majority of his life. Definitely the occasional good and the occasional bad ones are there but never with such frequency and never with such consistency in their outcome. To think of this as an aberration is something I have been forcing myself to do but how do I convince myself ? I was once told that you cannot dream of your own death in your sleep and thats because your brain interprets is as the "death" event and stops functioning. Seemingly, the brain has no issues in coming close to that event or atleast thats what it made me feel. Is it all an outcome of change? Blunt as it is, I have forced myself to change beyond my wishes. It does make me look back at a different me often asking questions to which I have no answers.

Why but then the other day I dreamed of a future life where I tried calling up people to meet...to see them once but they did not agree. It all came back to me...the convenience of being around people and a chatter here and there only because it was in the moment, it happened. And as soon as that convenient relationship ceased to exist, I seemingly vanished in thin air. And what about the one where I just dreamt of being in a pit and shouting for help. I think I saw faces, known faces and I begged, I pleaded to get me out but they did not. Maybe they did not hear me or maybe thats what I chose to believe... All I know is if I were to do a Freudian interpretation of my dreams, its not at all pleasant.

How vulnerable can you be to have these desperately obvious dreams? What separates the courageous attitude from a stuck-in-reverse life? I have reached a phase in the life for the third time when I am as nostalgic about God knows where and what as I ever could be.

The last one, I dreamt of a walk. A long walk and I am talking, baring all that I know, all that I wish and all that I want. It seemed I had never been so frank...not even to myself as I was being then. I saw the Water tank from this campus...I saw a familiar coffee place. And then I turned to see who was I talking to.

There was no one. I had a bleeding arm and a lit cigarette.