A Dream I Wished I Hadn’t Awakened From

Lying in bed, eyes opened, staring at the white ceiling, slowly rolling my gaze from the ceiling to the framed photo on the wall, to the curtains, to the window.

The sky was dimly lit, the sunlight hadn’t yet tinted the sky red, birds chirping outside, and I was still trying to pull myself together, trying to make sense of the dream I just had.

They say you dream about someone only if you miss them. They also say you dream about someone because they’re thinking of you, missing you. Don’t know whether these claims are true or not, but I do know that something deep down caused that dream, something I’ve been avoiding touching upon for years.

***

“Come,” he said, standing beside a dining table, resting one hand on the back of a chair, waving the other toward me, wearing a large smile.

Stumbling, head down, eyes fixed on my own feet. One step, two steps… slow and heavy, toward him.

“Sit here,” he said, placing one hand on my shoulder and gesturing to the chair at the dining table with the other.

The table, covered with a white tablecloth, was bare except for a bottle of alcohol sitting in the middle. I felt dizzy. Everything was white and vain, like a reflection of my blank memories. I couldn’t recall where this place was or why I was there. The only thing I knew was that the man was him, Dad.

Sitting on the chair, placing my arms on the table, intertwining my fingers into a fist, and fixing my vacant eyes on the white tablecloth.

“Do you want a drink?” he gestured toward the bottle with his eyes.

Shaking my head.

“Okay. Do you mind if I drink?” he asked, reaching for the bottle as he spoke.

Shaking my head again. unsure of what to say or how to act. I had never stopped him from drinking before, or I had never been able to stop him, from anything.

“Do you know why you are here?” he asked, raising his glass and downing it in one gulp.

Remaining silent, becoming speechless as if something had bitten my tongue.

Locking eyes with him, expecting him to tell me the reason.

“Speak. I know you have something to say,” he said, or rather, ordered, as he always did, filling up another glass of alcohol.

Yes. I’ve carried something in my heart for years, something I share only with myself in sleepless darkness. But I’ve never decided to tell him. Nor have I known how to tell him, fearing I might break down even before opening my mouth.

Silent once again, I remained.

“Okay, look,” he said, his face flushed red after two glasses of alcohol. “I haven’t been a good dad to you and your brother, and I wasn’t a good husband to your mom….”

Unable to listen, it felt drowning in the panic and dizziness of having secrets I thought were well hidden been seen through by someone. But he didn’t stop. His voice, like a ringing in my ears, pierced through my skull. Amidst the chaos, however, the only words discernible to my ears were “I am sorry.” It felt like my body was about to explode, with resentment and anger boiling through my veins.

“No…” I shouted. Never had I shouted so loudly. It was as if I wanted to exhaust all the strength in my body. As if I wanted to drown out his voice with mine. Because then, I wouldn’t hear his apology, and he would forever be tormented by this remorse.

***

Upon waking up with a jolt, realizing it was all just a dream, with no traces of tears in my eyes, yet my throat was indeed a bit sore, wondering if I had been shouting in reality too.

Staring at the dim sky outside the window, pondering the possible outcome if I hadn’t awakened from it. It was not just a dream for me. It was a dream of my deepest desire — his apology, my forgiveness.

Closing my eyes, attempting to return to sleep, striving to pick up the dream where I left off, and trying to determine whether the version of me in my dream would forgive him after my voice grows hoarse and the wind dries my tears.

I didn’t sleep, and couldn’t pick up the dream where I left off. Maybe I’ll revisit that dream another day, or perhaps it will remain a myth forever.

***

I’ve had dreams about my dad before. He even appears more frequently in my dreams than my mom or anyone else. However, those dreams never end well. We’re often shouting at each other or fighting, and I wake up soaked in sweat or with tears in my eyes. But in this particular dream, he did something he’d never done before, something I crave yet fear to ask for — he apologized. And that made this dream somewhat special.