The first time she saw him in her dream. He was just another of those blurred images which forms part of a confused dreamscape. The second time, she saw him, she dreamt that she was dining at a fancy restaurant with her sister. He was sitting at a table behind her. He kept starring. Takes a sip from his glass. Lights a cigarette. And continues starring. Sometimes, she wakes up feeling excited but not knowing why. She tried to conjure up the image of the man in her dreams who had made her blood rush up to her brain at an intoxicating speed followed by a chill. She shivered but his image refuse to come together into a whole. Just pieces floating randomly past in her consciousness.
It started off an innocent enough infatuation. Like the kind that young girls develop for celebrities. Or teachers. People they can never quite grasp in reality, but are readily theirs in dreams and fantasies. But it quickly became an obsession. She could not stop thinking of this mysterious man who keeps appearing in her dreams. His image would sometimes spring up like a surprised jack-in-abox when she is in the midst of her work. She took to smiling to herself and looking distracted. friends started suspecting that she is secretely seeing someone. They grilled her for some information. Any information at all. But she revealed nothing. How could she? Without sounding like a complete idiot?
She started to become excited once the sky darkened. She would rush through her dinner. Watch a bit of television distractedly. She was eager to fall asleep. And when he doesn't appear in her dreams, she is disappointed. Even a tad angry, as if he had stood her up for a date. He always come when her sleep was the deepest and sweetest. As if he chose to make his appearance only at that deepest, darkest part of her mind. Letting her fumble around and try to catch him while he flits around in the dark corners of her mind.
He was always charming. He sweeps her off her feet. Always. Without a word. She wonders at his silence, and her ability to understand his meanings even though he has no voice. In the day, she tried to imagine him with a voice. she would imagine something smooth and silky, a tad hoarse perhaps. But it will be a soothing voice that will flow over her like liquid. She was secretive and happy about her romance in her sleep. She convinced herself that she has found him; her soul mate. She started to look for him in reality. For the face, the voice, in the people of the city rushing around like her. She does not meet him.
Soon, her excitement reaches such a pitch that she no longer can drift off to sleep. She longs to see him but fears it. She would close her eyes in concentration waiting for sleep to take over. But the moment she thinks that she will be seeing him, she becomes alert, anxious. Her insomnia stretches her, dehydrates her, breaks her. Pills give her a blank sleep, with only disjointed images that she can't really piece together. Too blank. Like a white canvas torn into pieces and thrown in her face. She often wonders if she is going mad. She thought of seeing a psychiatrist. But that will only mean that he will try to remove this man from her dreams. Help her see that he isn't real. She couldn't bear the thought of it. The only way, she decided, is for her to find him in reality. He had to exist.
Countless sleepless nights, left her drained. She felt like she lived in a world of the surreal, she could no longer disentagle the real from the unreal. She decided that she had to get some help, or die. She boarded the bus as she does everyday. The same 8.15 bus. The bus was punctual. She climbed the steps tired,heavily. Dropping something insignificant as she did so. Not wanting to bother to pick it up, she left it.
A shrill voice rang out, obviously uncomfortable in English with a mandarin/hokkien/catonese-whatever hint of an accent. 'Miss, you drop something."
For the first time, she takes a true look at the bus-driver who calls to her now. And there he was. The man she had dreamt of for countless nights. Sitting in the driver seat in his uniform, giving her a puzzled look and a forced smile.
It started off an innocent enough infatuation. Like the kind that young girls develop for celebrities. Or teachers. People they can never quite grasp in reality, but are readily theirs in dreams and fantasies. But it quickly became an obsession. She could not stop thinking of this mysterious man who keeps appearing in her dreams. His image would sometimes spring up like a surprised jack-in-abox when she is in the midst of her work. She took to smiling to herself and looking distracted. friends started suspecting that she is secretely seeing someone. They grilled her for some information. Any information at all. But she revealed nothing. How could she? Without sounding like a complete idiot?
She started to become excited once the sky darkened. She would rush through her dinner. Watch a bit of television distractedly. She was eager to fall asleep. And when he doesn't appear in her dreams, she is disappointed. Even a tad angry, as if he had stood her up for a date. He always come when her sleep was the deepest and sweetest. As if he chose to make his appearance only at that deepest, darkest part of her mind. Letting her fumble around and try to catch him while he flits around in the dark corners of her mind.
He was always charming. He sweeps her off her feet. Always. Without a word. She wonders at his silence, and her ability to understand his meanings even though he has no voice. In the day, she tried to imagine him with a voice. she would imagine something smooth and silky, a tad hoarse perhaps. But it will be a soothing voice that will flow over her like liquid. She was secretive and happy about her romance in her sleep. She convinced herself that she has found him; her soul mate. She started to look for him in reality. For the face, the voice, in the people of the city rushing around like her. She does not meet him.
Soon, her excitement reaches such a pitch that she no longer can drift off to sleep. She longs to see him but fears it. She would close her eyes in concentration waiting for sleep to take over. But the moment she thinks that she will be seeing him, she becomes alert, anxious. Her insomnia stretches her, dehydrates her, breaks her. Pills give her a blank sleep, with only disjointed images that she can't really piece together. Too blank. Like a white canvas torn into pieces and thrown in her face. She often wonders if she is going mad. She thought of seeing a psychiatrist. But that will only mean that he will try to remove this man from her dreams. Help her see that he isn't real. She couldn't bear the thought of it. The only way, she decided, is for her to find him in reality. He had to exist.
Countless sleepless nights, left her drained. She felt like she lived in a world of the surreal, she could no longer disentagle the real from the unreal. She decided that she had to get some help, or die. She boarded the bus as she does everyday. The same 8.15 bus. The bus was punctual. She climbed the steps tired,heavily. Dropping something insignificant as she did so. Not wanting to bother to pick it up, she left it.
A shrill voice rang out, obviously uncomfortable in English with a mandarin/hokkien/catonese-whatever hint of an accent. 'Miss, you drop something."
For the first time, she takes a true look at the bus-driver who calls to her now. And there he was. The man she had dreamt of for countless nights. Sitting in the driver seat in his uniform, giving her a puzzled look and a forced smile.
posted by Nippy at 4:19 AM
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