I guess dreams really do work in the most ridiculous ways.
In all honesty, I couldn’t help but see myself testing a numerous theories on dreaming (by kept automatically making refrences of my recollection on those scraps and bits of memory, the exact moment I woke up), of which I thought had already been tested by myself. Maybe it meant that I had never truly been satisfied with the fact that I kind of blindly believed in them, or it’s just that I’ve never believed in them, at all. I do notice, however, that I sincerely wanted to believe.
They say you dream about things you constantly think about during the day. It was true. Partly. Because if it was true all the way, I would’ve been dreaming non-stop about my 1m60 hero, but no. It was rather funny, how it’d choose the most random things, those that might simply pops up in your head any occasion during the day, even just for one single second, to appear in your dream. Or, it’s choose the things that during our moments of awakened, we were stressing, thinking, worrying non-stop about. How vivid, the appearance of them. For example, I was stressing so hard about how to ask to come to Ha Thu’s place, or whether I should go to the gym today or not. In the end, they were both there.
They say within the first five minutes after you wake up, you forgets 90% of what you had dreamt about. Normally, that was quite correct. No matter hard I tried, again, normally, all I could recall were fragments and pieces, of what possitively stood out most during the dreaming process. However, sometimes, it works differently. Like the main reason why I’m sitting here, missing my obsessive-exercise time, to write about. This, is the first time ever, if my memory is to be trusted, I remembered almost correctly all the details and the construction of the whole dream. Funny, how sometimes we want to remember something, something sweet, something pleasurable, but we simply couldn’t. Our mind chooses to forget. Occasionally, what seems like such ordinaries in our life, were to be remembered, and would stick around, whether we like it or not, seemingly forever. Life is a beautiful, and unpredictable whore.
According to Freud, there are three personality presents. The id, the ego, and the super ego. To simplify, the id is a personality that the conciousmind seems to have to control over. It has been there since the day we were born, by that, we could say that the “id” is the most primary basic of our nature; a personaily that acts upon, and seeks for pleasure, and mostly driven by the libido. An example could be shown by looking at an infant, it doesn’t really know that it’s hungry, since hunger, is a sense, a “word”, that will be later taught to the ego and the superego. But it does realize the feeling of tummy rumbling, and the need to search for something to eat. So it cries. Cry, until someone feed “it”. In the most basic and innocent way, the crying baby is a representation of the “id”. The “ego”, is ruled by sense of reality, that it surpress the “id” and the “superego”, in order to create a person with actions acceptable to social standard, something that makes people “normal”; like when you need to pee, you would excuse yourself to the toilet, rather than just “let it out” right where you were. The “ego” is in its glory during our concious moments. Our very concious moments. But once it comes to unconciousness, “ego” seems to ber overpowered (by our dear friend “id”). About the “superego”, it’s what we’d say an ideal “us” would be. What our conscience seems to act upon, the very most ideal of rules and standards of what “a good behavior” would be. The example would just be the you that needed to pee, would excuse yourself to the toilet first, before going to the toilet, and there would be no way the super ego would allow you to pee right there. The super ego appears in all conciousness, preconciousness, and unconciousness state of mind, with a certain power in its hand.
The interaction between the two could normally depends on the situation. Like how the ego would surpress and combine the two others while we are awake, and moving, in the watchful eyes of our society. But it would let the “id” to have its freedom in the unconciousworld, where our brain is the only thing that’s working, alone, without the help of other body parts like our limbs to be able to act upon the control of “id”. So let’s put it to image. The “id”, the “ego” and the “superego” are sitting on a card table, or maybe playing billiard, looking all cool and mob-ish, discussing which memories coming from the conciousness of “ego”, could be let into dreamland, the terrioty of the “id”, and which dreams would “ego” allow to stay after its appearance. Maybe, that’s why sometimes we remembers, and sometimes we forgets.
I sometimes wonder if the “ego” has any power in “dreamland” at all, since it should be the thing that would be able to tell that we were dreaming. “Ego” acts on logic. But no matter how unlogical everything in our dreams seems to be to us when we’re awake, it makes perfect sense there, that there would be no way we woud be able to determine that we were actually living in a dream. Accordingly, there appears to have their own rules of logic and how logic works in that land.
Back to the main thing, the thing that turned me into this babbler, the thing that surprisingly stuck in my mind vividly even after surpassing the five centrail minutes. My dream from today’s afternoon nap.
It started with some kind of old wood-filled looking hall, where surprisingly, turned out to be my school, with all classes of it in every room. I walked into one, realizing it wasn’t my class, so moved to another, where supposingly, it was. I could only tell because a friend of mine was there, even though I couldn’t make out the face of others, I knew, because she was there. She represented it. My friend, let’s call her Mel, was sitting and laughing the way her usual self would. An empty period, so I did what I normal do, I left my bags in my class, under Mel’s protection, to be specific, and skipped. I went out, wander from one class to another, while messing the directions and seemingly has gotten lost, because they all looked exactly the same. I wonder how I could’ve differ them. But something happened. Some how, a student got turned into a monstrous looking alien, the one that scared me during my childhood because of its habit of eating human flesh and was reminded by the trailor of the movie “Pometheus” I recently saw a day ago, so everyone was ordered to evacuate.
I made my way through the crowd back to my class, fearing everyone mgiht have left and the alien might have been in it. But no, the room was still full. Infact, it was full of still sitting people, just that they weren’t my class. They were what I knew was my best friend’s class, Physic 1. Maybe because it was all boys? Or maybe because to me, he represented that class, of where he belonged, or of why I came to know the class; because he was there.
I walked in, and was greeted by a guy, who I again, knew, was the captain of the school’s basketball team. Funny, since I don’t even know the guy and couldn’t make out his face. The greeting of his was constructed of a series of questions and mockiness. But I ignored him, and just tried to look for my friend. He was sitting right where Mel was, and waved at me with a big smile. I wondered why they were still laughing, but once I got to him and asked for my bag, the oerder came to them, and they started packing. That was when I realized what a monster I truly was, since I didn’t care about anyone’s safety, I didn’t care about the fact that the alien could devour them all if they don’t leave in time; all I cared about was to take my belongings and moved my ass out of there as fast as I could. I sincerely thanked whoever didn’t order to leave the bags behind. I’d be devastated. So I tuck my hand in the table’s hollow, and pulled out a black leather side bag. I somehow knew that it wasn’t mine, but I put it on anyway. Took a few moments after I walked out for me to realize that it wasn’t the one I came in with, and for my friend to realize that too, and called me back to exchange, since it was “his bag”. Another theory tested, they couldn’t know because you couldn’t know. So I came back and changed for a white and black colored back-pack, one that surprisingly looked like a friend of mine. I’ve always thought side-bag wasn’t as good as back-pack. Now, I came to realize why that black leather bag was there, it was my bag, the exact same, with exact print, when I was still in 7th grade. People, they liked that bag.
The class started packing, I couldn’t recall if they moved out or not, but one guy, the captain guy, was still standing. He was standing over a lying dude, who was in the mid process of transforming into an alien. He stood there, in the water filled ground (water surrounded the lying guy), face covered with streaks and splatter of blood. He wasn’ t scared. He was just yelling at the lying guy with the same expressive face, something about betrayal. I wasn’t afraid, maybe since I knew he wasn’t yet dangerous, and if I move fast, I wouldn’t get caught. Still, the captain was brave (or maybe a lunatic, I don’t know). Bravery, was a question, and something, that I don’t exactly know for sure whehter how much, of if there’s any, in me at all. If it was my friend who turned in to the alien, I would just run away to save myself immediately, I believe.
Sinichi Kudo, or rather, Edogawa Conan turned back to his normal self, was invited to investigate the case, as I saw him strolling down the hall. Impressive, how the “id” takes what as memorable, since I read the story containing that character a few days ago, and am pretty convinced that the “ego” took no special interest in it. I was told to go home, and be safe for the rest of the day, and this, was where it started to get weird.
Coming home, I found a wounded John Watson on the bed of a pink room, I’ve don’t recall seeing it ever before. He was wounded, and he didn’t seem surprise to find me walking in. He was on the bed, so I was standing. However awkward it might sound now, believe me, it seemed perfectly normal then.
Suddenly, we, I mean both of us, John and me, heard strange sounds, as a shadow of an alien started to creep up. It came, jumping into John, attacking him. We knew , and were both surprised, that the fat lady downstaris selling antiques (now this is funny, since Antiques in the name of a manga I just finished) turned out to be an alien. John called for help, and some one came from her behind and atacked her. Then we were called from below to go down and escape on a military looking open aired car. So be slid down on the pipes to the ground. How jolly, since while sliding down, we were able to see all those who lived under us, and the fat lady was still in her shop, writing something.
We came to the car, I don’t recall any of their face, and turned out that the fat lady, who joined us too, was a secret agent of the special mission about thee aliens. And we were, too. She just claimed, and we just believed.
The car started moving, to somewhere, but I didn’t question. I trusted those people. Then a guy in a hunting head suddenly turned to me, his face dangerously close to mine, yet I didn’t fear, and asked:
“Em thấy ngon không?” (simply translated to :how do you think?-by his meanings)
I turned to look at him, and there he was, Sherlock Holmes (Benedict Cumberbatch), was there, asking me about something like he trusted an valued my opinion, and we were very close.
I naively replied-“Cái gì cơ ạ?” (“What?”)
Sherlock: “John. Em nghĩ anh với anh ấy nên yêu nhau không?” (“John. Do you think I and him should be lovers?”)
Yes, like we were that close. True, though. I’ve always liked to be close to cool guys.
I grinned cheekily and said yes, as he chuckled in return, asking why.
Me: “Anh không thấy cách anh ấy đang nhìn mình à?” (“Don’t you sê the way he is looking at us?-jelousy.)
Sherlock: “Sao bằng cách Hà Thu đang nhìn anh em mình được.” (“How could it compare to the way Hà Thu is?!”
We both had a good laugh. Now, I remembered, Ha Thu is a hardcore fan of BBC Sherlock. I could still remember the way she looked at me with such grude, and how Shelock was looking at John after out laugh, lovingy, and with such kindness, I’m not sure what version of Sherlock Holmes that was. But that certainly was not him. Later on, I didn’t see him anymore.
Infact, all those faceless people turned out to be a bunch of my club, GHA people. They still didn’t have any face, except on person, who I’d like to call VNM, and a girl in the club, Phan Thao, replaced the chuuby lady. Really funny, since I’m not even that close to her. VNM was laughing with people, asking them where should we get dinner, while telling them that I, me, don’t eat rice. I wonder how he would be the one knowing that fact, and he sure seemed a lot jollier in my dream. I wanted to tell people that I didn’t just don’t eat rice, I don’t eat any kind of white carb. Still, I kept silent, and just smiled and nodded. I didn’t want to me judge, and I didn’t want ot be left out, anymore.
I remembered then, to check my phone, wondering why it was pitch black outside, yet they haven’t called yet. Maybe because my phone was too deep inside my pocket, so I didn’t catch any. I opened, and mu heart started jumping. Ten missed calls. Ten, then I saw the ID of those who called, but none were my parents. They were either Minh Ha, a dear dear girl of mine, or Leehul and Phuong from my gym. That was when I realized I has skipped gym tonight, so problem solved.
Somehow, my drivers words came to me, saying my parents were out of town, so I could just have fun and not to worry. I dream of those in reality.
Suddenly, everything turned back to the school with the hall, as if it was going to repeat itself again, in a much calmer way. How did I know, I don’t know. I knew that I woke up shortly after, and that was all. I woke up, with the memory of my dream still perfectly unharmed.
Funny, how what I wanted to dream about never seems to appear, but rather what I needed, and what are stuck in myhead, would all came dancing in the concious of my unconciousness. To be honest, it’s quite devastating.
I guess I just need to dream more, hoping for the chance that one day, the trio of power will find it necessary, to allow me have the dream I wanted, to answer my quest and curiosity; and if they can be extra generous, maybe allowing me to remember it.
But the chances are slim.
Hanoi, June 19th, 2013, 8:16 p.m.
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