Hey. How goes it? Yeah, sorry. It's been a while. It took one helluva weird/bad/sad dream to push me back into my quaint little blog, but hey, this could be good, right?
Anywho, my dreams are usually the most nondescript kind (hence, me not really talking about them), save for that rarely occurring Zombie apocalypse kind where I literally respawn in my bed, only to die numerous times before waking up. Fun.
I never found myself gasping for air, or waking up in a cold sweat. Dreams never really bothered me. They were actually simple enough that I soon forgot 'em on the same day. Not this time, though. Ever wondered what would happen if you took some heavy, family-oriented drama and threw it in a blender with genetic anomalies and unexplained scientific phenomena? Heck, me neither. But I guess this one came close.
I seemingly reverted back to a kiddo, roughly 6 or 7 years old. Most of my surroundings were blurry, but the details of my room were flawless, down to the untidy desk I use on a daily basis. I didn't know if I retained all my memories or if my mind regressed along with my then kiddie-esque body. I was certain about the regression because my clothes were pretty damn huge.
I could remember were parents talking to each other in hushed tones in front of me. Mom was quietly sobbing and Dad was comforting her in his usual tone, assuring that everything will be all right. At this point, I was pretty much clueless until he made his way towards me. He stooped down to where I was seated, looked me in the eyes and put his hand on my head. Quoting in verbatim is, and always will be my bane but I think I got it right this time around.
"Anak, wag kang mag alala. Palalakihin ka uli namin ng mommy mo. Kami na ang bahala." Then, he smiled; smiled unlike any other time I saw him smile in my life. It was strange. It was rather nice.
I woke up. Manly tears were flowing. Sorry, pillow.
I'm not quite sure what struck me so much emotionally; the fact that I was a kid and had to relive the horrors of teenhood again (no, I didn't check if my wee wee was cut), the idea of my parents having to laboriously raise me a second time at their ripe, old age, or the loving comfort of knowing that they actually would...given their ripe, old age.
I'll probably find out in the future, but I'll try my best to stop thinking too much about it. Manly tears can only do so much when you're having a busy 8-hour shift.
In any case, thanks for dropping by.