Panaginip

Dreams are funny things. Sometimes i wake up, just barely, still wrapped up in the yellowy haze of an adrenaline rush brought about by the adventures in my head, wishing never to open my eyes again.

In my house sleep is scorned by my father, who has never respected anyone's slumber but his own. Rude awakenings are a daily occurence, characterized by rough pounding of his fist against the wooden wall beside my bed, followed by a roaring and then a sudden splash of water on my face at worst. I'd wake up abruptly, torn out of the dreams and into the red angry reality of waking life. Both my parents are morning people, relics of a past age, i suppose. I'm sure there are morning people my age too, but they aren't HUMAN.

My rebellion against this was to sleep late. Slumber past sunrise is anathema to my dad. Of course, i learned to sleep with a pillow over my head. To this day it is a constant source of irritation to my dad that my current employment does not require me to wake up at dawn.

In my cousin's house, two-year-old Jake and four-month old Kate wake up to silence and soft lights and smiles. I feel a twinge of envy everytime i see them sleeping so peacefully. Sleep for me is sacred. And dreams... Dreams are funny things.

Fox Mulder said that dreams are answers to questions we don't know how to ask. (I hope i got that right.) I love my dreams. I do.