i’ve been having prophetic dreams

I’m in the in-between. 

I’ve been having cryptic symbolism in my dreams. The feeling I’ve been having can only be described as an intimately intertwined connection just hazy enough to graze the line of belief and doubt. When I have these dreams that are closely tied to my reality, I think it is a divine sign. I mean, these dreams were crafted just for me. It has to be, right?

This leads me to wonder about my inherited fragments of the past. How are my dreams reassembling these fragments? Which of what I perceived to be true was actually fooling me? What really are those noises I hear above my bedroom? When I was a little girl, I would hear screams from squirrels scurrying and fighting in the attic above my bedroom. When I was an even littler girl, I lived in an attic of this family that abused mine. I’d steal stickers and drink the lukewarm Coke left on the bedside table of their mean daughter while she napped, my small acts to avenge my family’s quiet tolerance of their abuse. Now as a young woman, I hear the creaking footsteps of my upstairs neighbor that attempts to casually ask me to hang out in his pool yet stumbles to remember my name. 

I make my to-do list in no particular order because whether it’s setting up my electricity or poeticizing the mundane, I do my tasks upon impulse. 

these figures have a mind of their own lately. i’m building a story

What do you think about when we all go home, into our rooms? I’ll go first, try to follow along as I guide you through my mind palace: I stand at the crossroads of cultures. If Western individualist culture tells us to do what makes us happy, what happens when what makes us happy makes others unhappy? How will the cryptic symbolism in my dreams manifest into my reality? After both my grandfathers passed in the same year, one of them visited my dreams and told me I grew up beautifully..

When things in the known world stop making sense, we venture into the unknown. I’ve been confused by my own blurred borders…contradictions, hypocrisy and decisions that become increasingly harder to make. I’ve been lost in the holes in my memory, filling them with self-doubt. But I’m starting to realize..memories are not meant to be a static archive, but rather living and shifting. I am shaped as much by what is missing as by what remains. It is the way of reassembling broken fragments of my past, and it’s how I move on.

I’m comforted by this idea that our lives are stories, not neatly contained within a singular narrative. There is no tidy conclusion. 

My blogging hiatus can mostly be explained by my writing feeling like a jumbled reflection of where I am. I’ve been worried about distilling my words to represent all these thoughts that are far from complete. (can u tell by the number of question marks in this single blog…?)

As a human being, I struggle to grasp, interpret and control the world around me. As I have these monthly existential thoughts, I am back here. It’s part of my investigation into the haze. I am incredibly intrigued.

My memories are selective, colored by feeling. I’m in a constant flux as I remember, forget and choose to leave behind. I think my dreams talk to me. I like to think most of us, people like you and me, mean well. I hope you found this confusing. I also hope you understand.

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