Lackluster

Yesterday, while taking an afternoon nap, I had a dream about flying. In the dream, I was on-board an airplane while it was doing exhibitions in the air. Me and my companions (who were all old ladies, I don't know why) were strapped upright on the sides of the plane instead of sitting down on the plane's seats. When the plane landed, I found myself parasailing off the shores of Boracay. But instead of just parasailing above the sea, the wind blew me into the city and I was flying, sometimes landing, on the rooftops of buildings and houses before the wind blew me again to Boracay and landed safely to the sailboat.

When I woke up, I had no difficulty in interpreting what my dream meant because that was exactly what I've been thinking and feeling for days. I wanted to fly. I wanted to break-free from all these mess that my life had become. I wanted to go to a far-away place by myself for a couple of days to think things over and cry and scream endlessly and uninterruptedly and just simply take out all my frustrations and shout to the world how life can be so damn unfair! I wanted to leave everything behind and start a new life somewhere where no one knows me and no one can reach me. I wanted to simply get lost. All because I am so sick and tired of my life!

I don't know how or when I reached this point. I have become unhappy. The small things that usually bring me joy during times like these like DQ rocky road blizzard, corny jokes, Milo, chocolates, upbeat music, movie marathons or Johnny Depp couldn't even uplift my spirit even just a tiny bit. What is happening to me? How did I become so weak? I used to think that time and experience had toughen me up and taught me important lessons that I could use as weapons to defeat all my life's enemies. But now everything seemed futile. I have fallen prey to the very thing that I've been trying so hard to avoid at all costs: misery. Now, I feel so miserable. Life has lost its splendor and long as the tunnel is, I still couldn't see the light at the end of it.

The thing is: I hate my life because it is not going the way I had planned it, or liked it to be. It had come to a point where I had become tired of living it. I'm tired of sacrificing everything for other people. I am tired of being the breadwinner. I'm tired of being the only person who had to carry the burden of trying all means possible to save my family. I'm tired of being the only one who had to look for ways to solve every problem of my family. I am tired of taking care of people who are old enough and are capable of taking care of themselves. I am sick of people who do not care about us just because their life is going pretty well. I am sick of people accusing me of being selfish just because I allow myself to experience a few, rare luxuries when I am sacrificing a lot and working my butt out to provide for my family. Since when did rewarding one's self equate to being selfish? I am sick of my job or rather, I hate my job. I am tired of having to stay at this job just because I could not afford the downtime and the ephemeral unemployment that comes with searching for the perfect job. I am tired of being rejected by people I care about. I am sick of broken promises. I am sick of weak people who gives up easily. I am sick of being hurt by the people I love. I hate it that I could not do everything that I want to do because I need to work on my priorities first. I am tired of fighting for something that is just going on spiral for quite sometime. I am tired of feeling so alone. I am tired of living.

Some of the things I mentioned above concern my family. Don't get me wrong though. I love my family and I am willing to give and sacrifice a lot for them. But I am only human. I get tired too. I was just thinking, how long should I put my dreams, like starting my own family, on hold for them? Will it take forever?

I have been fretting and procrastinating and crying for days because I don't know what to do to turn my life around. There were things that I have no control over and I am just leaving it up to fate. I couldn't sleep last night so I spent it thinking. I was thinking of going away for a couple of days, all by myself, somewhere far from the city like Baguio or the beach. There, I will spend my solitude on reflections and letting go and creating action points for my life and from there, I will try to emerge a better, stronger person. Oh, if only things are that easy!

Dreams and Reality

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard
way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning,
middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment
and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.
Delicious Ambiguity.

2 nights ago, I had this weird dream about my dad. I woke up in the middle of the night, teary-eyed, before I finally realized that it was all just a bad dream and that it ain't true, and hopefully, it ain't gonna happen.

In my dream, I was being scolded by my aunt for not coming home to Tarlac on November 1st, All Saint's Day, to visit my father's grave. I was crying as she was telling me this and I was so furious with myself for not even remembering to visit the grave of my own father. When I woke up, I kept thinking it over and over if my dad was really dead until it finally dawned on me that my father's still alive, not 100% well and healthy, but alive, nevertheless.

But eventhough I know that it was just a bad dream, I still felt scared and uneasy afterwards, I had a hard time going back to sleep. You see, last year, I also had a bad dream concerning my dad. In my dream, I was told that my dad was in the hospital again (he was hospitalized that same year for his first stroke, a complication of his diabetes and high-blood pressure) and that he was critical. A few hours later, I received an sms from my mom saying that my dad was indeed in the hospital, he suffered a second stroke and was having internal hemorrhage on his head. I was so horrified to learn that my dream was real. Fortunately, my dad recovered from the stroke. He could not speak and walk properly, and he would be on lifetime medication, but he's still with us and it's all that matters to me.

My latest dream about him didn't come true. Thank God. I don't know what I would do if ever that happens. I love my father so much. Although we may not have the same relationship as before and he may not be, in certain ways, the same father I grew up knowing and loving, he's still my father. He gave me life. He raised me to become what I am now. And no matter what other people might say, he was a good father to us. He might have changed, but I know, we know, that in his heart, he still loves us so much. And for that, I will forever be grateful to him and will love him for all my life.