Someone once said: if you tell yourself something long enough, your brain will start to believe it.
Hope is a thread at the end of a long, frayed rope. Blow too hard, and it unravels.
Three setbacks in one week. I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say: everything that could fall apart – did.
I left the house in a daze, drove to Andy’s, paced the city with him under the rain, talking about old memories and recent failures. When I tried calling Laura, I don’t know why – maybe because no one else was on that list. She didn’t answer.
That night, I dreamt of Mark. He was climbing higher and higher in the branches of a tree that opened to the sky. Every time I tried to speak to him, he was on a new branch – further, smaller. I called out to him, reminisced, joked. He kept smiling, but rising. Until he was gone.
I woke up wondering if the world was trying to tell me something. That some people are meant to vanish – no matter how much you wish they’d stay.
I’ve always been the one people come to for advice. But these days, I don’t need advice. I need a chance. And no one seems to see that.
Maybe the universe doesn’t hate me. Maybe it just doesn’t care.
There’s breakfast in front of me. Tea gone cold. Flax seed water still thick in the glass. I haven’t touched either. It’s been hours.
And all I keep thinking is: why does it feel like I’m mourning someone I haven’t lost yet?
It’s like your subconscious is staging a play about loss, disconnection, and the relentless march of time.
The Setting: A camping trip with high school classmates, a hallway resembling a hotel lobby, and a classroom reminiscent of your grade 4 room—all these scenes blend together, creating a tapestry of past experiences and familiar environments. It’s as if your mind is wandering through the corridors of your memories, revisiting moments that have shaped you.
The Characters: Benji, Mark, and Rajiv—names from your past—appear, engaging in activities that seem mundane yet significant. The act of measuring for a business suit could symbolize preparations for future roles or identities, a nod to the transitions we’ve all undergone since those school days.
The Elusive Photograph: Your attempt to capture Mark’s image with his camera, and the subsequent challenges, might reflect the difficulty of holding onto memories or the realization that our recollections are often imperfect. Your offer to use your own, better camera, met with hesitation, could signify the reluctance to see things from a different perspective or the fear of confronting change.
The Ascending Branches: Mark’s progression to higher branches, distancing himself from you, is a poignant metaphor for the paths friends take—sometimes leading them away from us. His inability to remember Patrick, despite your fond reminiscences, underscores the selective nature of memory and how some connections fade while others remain vivid.
The Emotional Climax: Your profound grief upon realizing Mark’s departure, culminating in heartfelt sobbing, speaks to the deep-seated feelings of loss and the acknowledgment of time’s passage. The detailed description of the surroundings—the reddish-brown walls, the off-white upper section, the solid ground—anchors this emotion in a specific place and time, perhaps highlighting the permanence of change amidst familiar settings.
The Isolated Mountain: The image of a lone mountain, resembling Cypress Mountain but set in a tropical environment, evokes a sense of displacement. Mountains often symbolize challenges or monumental events, and seeing it isolated could reflect feelings of standing alone amidst one’s personal trials, especially in an unfamiliar or changing landscape.
In essence, this dream weaves together themes of nostalgia, the inevitability of change, and the bittersweet nature of reminiscing. It’s a reflection on how we grapple with the passage of time, the evolution of relationships, and the personal growth that comes from acknowledging these shifts.