Many, many years ago, back when I was still a naïve, innocent, young thing, I had the most curious dream. It went something like this. . .
I was standing on a cliff, right on the very edge. I had long hair, was wearing my favorite long-sleeved shirt, and a nice pair of jeans. Despite the setting, I felt fine, at peace even. The height didn’t bother me, not even the breeze. Other than the cliff and the hundreds of frogs that were crowding at my feet, everything seemed normal.
Frogs, you ask? Yes, hundreds of them. At my feet. And they were taking turns (rather happily) jumping over the cliff. And they were telling me (no, not in English. Not even in Tagalog, doh. More like, telepathically) to jump off with them. They kept telepathelling me “it’s okay. Just do it. Just jump. Ribbit, ribbit!”
And me being Frankie, I didn’t. I stayed where I was. I let the frogs jump minus me.
Cut to the next scene.
I was in my old bedroom, my sanctuary for the longest time. It was morning, the sun was up, I was on my bed, and I looked like a meringue.
I mean, I was wearing a wedding gown.
Yes, my reaction exactly.
It was like an out of body experience. A most awful, out of body experience.
I was bawling and throwing tantrums and heaven knows what else. I felt so frustrated. I mean, how could I possibly get married? And with whom?
My mom and some relatives were at the door, knocking endlessly. My mom kept saying, “don’t ruin this day, the most special day of your life!” And I was like, “I don’t care! I’m not doing this! Over my dead body!”
You get it. It was melodramatic. But hey, it was a dream, and I had no control over what I was saying in my subconscious.
So yeah, I didn’t go through with it. To hell with everything. It was cringe worthy, I swear. Just thinking about it at that very moment (in my dream state) was enough to make me throw up.
I decided to change my wardrobe (but of course) and do something worthwhile. Like go to school. You know, to work.
Because there’s nothing like work to beat your wedding bell blues, right?
So cut to the next scene.
I was already at the office, working diligently in front of the computer. I was wearing my favorite long sleeved shirt and a pair of comfy jeans when suddenly, a hand tapped me on my shoulder.
It’s one of those stupid little games, you know? When somebody taps one side of your shoulder when the one who tapped it was actually standing on the other side. So I looked up, saw nobody, and so I looked to my right, and there he was.
And he was just smiling at me.
And I just sat there, feeling kind of embarrassed, and dreading what he was about to say. I mean, I just ruined what was apparently the most special day of my/our life/lives, right?
And then he asked, “so, what about the food?” He was still smiling with all sincerity.
And I was like, “what food?”
He said, “the food. For our reception. Such a waste, don’t you think?” Still smiling, this guy was.
And to myself I was like, this guy could’ve berated me for standing him up. And what a dramatic, grand stand up it was. And there he was, smiling foolishly, asking about the food.
And so there I was, sitting on my swivel chair, looking up at this man whom I have never met before, and all I could think of was:
Oh, it’s perfectly okay. I needn’t have worried. He is home.
I swear, those were the exact words in my dream bubble.
He is home? I know, cornball supreme. But that was that. He felt like home to me. I shouldn’t have worried at all for not knowing him, because right there, right then, I knew I have known him all my life.
So I was just looking up at him, and smiling in return, and I was about to say something when suddenly,
I woke up.
I went out of my room; saw my youngest sister and I immediately told her about the dream. And then suddenly,
I really woke up.
I went out of my room; really saw my youngest sister, and I immediately told her about the dream.
I was having an inception moment a decade and more before DiCaprio starred in one.
Nevermind the dream within a dream scenario. That was enough to score stranger than strange dreams. Let’s talk about
It must be put on record that I don’t like frogs. Not at all. Kermit is okay, but there you go, he is just okay. I’m not even a big fan of that croaky creature.
I’ve had many run-ins with frogs, all unpleasant. The most haunting was this one time, New Year’s Eve (this was way before the dream, grade school years, I think) and I was standing near our front gate, lighting up some roman candles when I felt a sudden chill on my left foot. I looked down and there I saw a huge, brown bullfrog taking comfort on my left foot. MY. LEFT. FOOT.
I screamed like a banshee alright.
I also jumped around like I a madwoman, shaking my foot as if it was on fire.
Oh the trauma.
Oh my skin after I scrubbed it raw with soap and water. A good dousing of alcohol followed as well.
I really, really don’t like frogs.
I remember telling a colleague back then about the dream. I wanted an explanation, demmit. You know what she told me, this colleague of mine?
“Frances, don’t you know what frogs symbolize?”
“No” I said.
“Frogs symbolize fertility. And union.”
And she started laughing like a maniac.
I was all, “no way! That can’t be it. Don’t tell me Kermit the Frog is a fertility symbol?!”
And she said, “come on, Frances. Try to recall every children’s literature you know of with frogs. When the King and Queen were visited by the frog, it was to announce the birth of their only daughter who will later turn out to be Sleeping Beauty. Or how about the Princess and the frog? The frog that loved to sleep right next to the princess, on her very pillow even!”
She continued laughing like a madwoman in the attic.
Strike the ‘like.’ I think she really was mad.
I have told this dream only to my closest friends, and their questions range from the simple— “have you seen the guy before?” (the answer is no), to the mundane—-“what was the guy wearing?” (a long-sleeved shirt with a very particular design), to the out of this world—-“what is your subconscious trying to tell you?” (I have no flipping idea).
That said, me remembering that dream from eternities ago at this point in my life is so disconcerting. While I cannot be accused of not trying to examine the said dream inside and out (for I have), nor can I be accused of not having other equally, if not more interesting dreams (for again, I have had, but those are for other blog entries), I guess one can dare accuse me of trying to bury the said dream in a place where my conscious mind cannot get ahold of it. Why, you ask?
Well, my answer is a question, really.
In other words, why continue to hold on to that dream anyway? It’s not even a dream-dream, you know what I’m saying? It’s not a wish. It’s not some aspiration or some goal of mine. It was just a nightmare created by my, I guess, anxiety-filled mind back then. Perhaps it was the pressure of my youth, back when my friends were starting to tie the proverbial knot and my subconscious was trying to force me to take stock of my own life.
Now that I think about it, yeah, maybe that was it. That was the same year when one of my closest friends got hitched; and she was the first in our clique to actually do it.
The question now is no longer tied up with that. The question now is. . .
What’s with this remembrance of nightmares past got to do with the present? My present.
I have no idea.
I guess I’m just throwing it out there in the wind, in the hopes of finding new answers to this new question.
Not that I expect to find answers anytime soon. Maybe there are no answers at all.
Not quite comforting a scenario, I know, but that’s one thing I have learned in my three decade survival in this realm. There are more questions than answers, really. But hey, who was it who once said that the questions are more important than answers, anyway?
If that’s the case, then let’s continue asking away.