They say dreams are where they can contact you
I finally dreamt of you again. The three of us were in a car, and I was driving. Manong was talking about his braces and how he intentionally made one bracket color red to make people gawk at his teeth. At this time, he was still in middle school. You were in your red suit with the gold buttons, like in the picture on top of the fridge where you were holding the leaves of the shrub at Castle Oaks. As the driver, I was freaking out, angry for some reason. I was flooring the gas pedal, careening the car, pounding the palms of my hands on the steering wheel. I was ranting, very much pissed off and asking why nobody was saying anything. Subconsciously, I think I meant to ask you why you weren’t saying anything to me in my dreams the way you do with manong. I was frustrated, and yes… feeling a little bit left out.
In your motherly tone, all you calmly said in my dream was, “Apay ag kas-kasta ka, nakkong?”
“Why am I like this,” mom? Because I’m upset. I’m angry about how unfair everything is. But a moment of clarity hit me this morning. I’m still stuck in this shitty, unfair worldly existence. That’s why I’m always bitching so much. But you are in a good place now. You are at your real home, better than your earthly home in Stockton. I feel that, somewhere, you are not complaining and are fully content. You are in a place of peace and rest.
