Shirt-off

I was entering and getting out of several realms of dreams.
I felt familiar with one of them.
It was at the wing of stage  where we were performing Shakespeare’s piece back then
I was enclosed in the dark
For a while I was watching the other actors playing their scene on stage
Then I realised my shirt was covered in red stains resembling so much of human blood
I tried to get rid of the shirt in instance,
Putting off my shirt in hurried manner
I WOKE UP.
(It was morning)
I THREW MY TANKTOP TO THE SIDE OF THE ROOM.
I WENT INTO MY BLANKET AND GET BACK TO SLEEP.

26 Nov 2014
losing my sense of time

IrangnarI

Irang likes the home she lives in. It is made out of bamboo. Every morning the sun would peek behind the half-opened door, leaving a glimpse of golden gleam on the left bamboo wall. The gleam falls exactly on the part where bunch of moss had grown on.

The moss must have grown out of richness. It is rich with water (that part of the wall is always damp) and always gets a generous amount of sunlight. Irang could spend humming a whole round of song watching the moss breathing in and out the early air of the day. Sometimes, she even could stare for two rounds of song-humming even.

Then Umi will call her to bath.

No, Umi never shout from the kitchen while she was cooking. Never did Umi yell from the bedroom. Umi has always got out from the bedroom before the sun wakes up, Irang knows this. She knows it as much as she knows Umi wouldn’t yell calling her to bath. No. It was always sudden, while Irang was staring intently at the moss, she felt perpetual movement of caressing, stroking her hair. Irang would look up. Umi would smile to her.

“Irang, take a bath.”

And Irang would take the towel form her mother’s lap, and march to the bathroom.

Most of the time, Umi helps Irang take a bath. Her mother would firstly scoop water with water-dipper made out of coconut shell, then put her hand on Irang’s shoulder, so that Irang would bow abit, and Umi shall pour the water on her head. Cold, she felt it flowing from the top of her head to the base of her feet. She whimpers, her jaws shake. She wonders if, when she ran out of the door and kissed by the sunlight, moss would also grew on her all-damp skin. She did ask her mother once, whether she could got out in the middle of bathing to stand under the sunlight.

“Why would you?”

So that my skin covered with green, soft moss, she said.

Her mother blinked two times. Then she took up on the soap foam, rubbing it to Irang’s skin a little harder than before. “You’re prettier this way.”

Irang didn’t say a word, and silently nodded. Irang has never seen her own face too clearly. She only sometimes see faint features of her face reflected by the sunlight on the surface of the water filling the black bucket her mother accidentally left outside after watering the paddy. Irang only sometimes see the silhouette of her frizzled hair, on those days she doesn’t bother to comb her hair and her mother’s too occupied with her pan in the kitchen. Irang sometimes tilts her head to the right of her shoulder while she was reflecting on the water surface, and felt abit like her mother.

Her mother is pretty.

But that morning, Irang couldn’t find out why that person whose face looks a lot like her mother didn’t seem very pleasant. Left alone looked pretty.

It was dawn, the sun hasn’t waken up. That person moves oddly. Her left leg looks limp, and she walked rather difficultly. Irang was watching her from behind the hole of the bamboo door. She suddenly realised she hadn’t drawn a breath, and didn’t remember since when. She then tried getting the air in and out of her lungs without having herself hears the breathing.

That person wore clothes similarly to the way her mother had always done. There was great deal of patterned fabric constricted round her legs, that seemed to make her even more difficult in walking with her left leg limb. The hair—it was pitch black and tied up into a big bun hanging from behind of her head. Just like Irang’s mother’s. She was trudging from afar. Closer, and closer to the door of her home.

“Has she came?” A familiar voice. Irang jumped.

Umi had waken up. Standing on the doorway of her bedroom, Umi hadn’t had her waist-length hair tied up. She looked at Irang’s face (Irang unable to open her mouth) and blinked two times. She then took lots of steps, as far as that confining linen allowed her to stretch her steps, rapidly toward the door.

Umi opened the door.

That person already stood right in front of their doorway. Irang couldn’t imagine. How did she do it? Crossing such distance in that very short span of time, with her manner of walking. That person stared back at Umi’s eyes, and sighed.

“Couldn’t even manage to tie your hair first, huh,” said that person. She walked in before it’s allowed. Irang glanced at her mother’s face. Umi didn’t seem disturbed. She silently closed the door.

That person walked into the middle of the room and glanced thoroughfully throughout the room. Irang wished she at least knew her name, so she could call her before that person’s pair of eyes fall on Irang. But her mother didn’t say a word.

Her gaze fell on Irang’s. Irang held a tip of her mother’s sarong in reflect, but stared back. In a moment that felt like countless rounds of song-humming, that woman’s forehead eventually crippled. Her eyebrows went low and contorted as if the woman insists that the brows should met. In her eyes Irang saw a gleam of emotion Irang never saw in her mother’s eyes. At that moment Irang knew it is that gleam that made her looks felt unpleasant, despite having features so much in resemblance with her mother’s. Staring at Irang, the gleam in the woman’s eyes emboldened even more so. It was disgust.

“What child!” She shrieked. She closed her lips so very tightly a moment after. As if she couldn’t help those words from falling out from her mouth.

Umi closed Irang’s sight with her hand. “How dare you, womyn. The first time you step in here and you greet my child with a tone and a face contorted so!”

Irang didn’t hear that woman’s response, but Irang could hear the woman moving around and about. There are sounds of nails scratching on hard surface. Umi still put her hand on Irang’s eyes.

“Here! And here too! You have always been like that, cannot even bring yourself to take care things properly!”

“This is my house,” Irang heard Umi uttering those words in lowly voice. “My house, my home. And you don’t order things or tell how things should be, in here. You don’t.”

“O now you dare, sister!” That woman emphasised the last word with sinister tone. “If you dare enough, why don’t you let the child see herself in the mirror!’

“What’s a mirror, Umi?” Irang asked, still with the sight obscured by Umi’s hand.

Irang heard a long, high-pitched laughter filled the early air of the day. Irang was sure it is still the early times of the day.

“She grows up without knowing what a mirror is! A girl couldn’t possibly turn into a woman without knowing what a mirror is! Who’s in fear now, Sister? Are you afraid she will feel terrible with her own face? Isn’t it you who afraid of having a child whose face so horribly different than yours?”

“Get. Out,” said Umi. Irang didn’t remember Umi have ever said anything that sharply, that dryly. “You. Get out of my house. Get out of here, now.”

“So be it! I can’t stand being in a place so damp and horribly sighted either!”

Several sounds of a person moving around, several sounds of footstep, door opening hastily and, finally, closing bangingly. Irang felt the familiar hand making the familiar stroke on her hair. The other pair of the hands excused itself from Irang’s eyes. Irang looked up and saw Umi’s face becoming wet from tears. Irang held Umi’s hand. Umi couldn’t hold her smile back. May I know why, Umi, said Irang.

“What is it you want to know?”

Why don’t you ever let me see a mirror, said Irang.

For a moment, Umi gazed emptily toward the direction she’s staring. After awhile, Irang abit not sure that Umi actually heard her question. When she’s about to repeat her question, Umi opened her mouth.

“I don’t want,” Umi said, with utmost care towards every word she’s saying, ”I don’t want you to grow up with the idea that looking into the mirror is the only thing that matters. Because it is not.”

People who have mirrors think that way, Umi?

“We, women, tend to think so,” Umi said gravely

Then I don’t want to be a woman.

“What is it then, you would become of?”

A lady! A princess! (Umi laughed) A dancer! Or a girl. I can be just a girl. I don’t know, Umi, but being a woman sounds too plain for me.

“You could be just anything you want,” Umi took my head into her bosom. “I’m glad you do know that.”

But how do I look, Umi?

Umi blinked. “You look just fine.”

I want to know what kind of princess I would be. I want to look into the mirror. You have a mirror, Umi?

“I kept one tightly in my drawer. For that time when the moment finally arrives.” Umi stood up and walked into her room. Not a round of song-humming Irang could finish, Umi got out already. Clenched in her hand was a holding-mirror with complicated-looking motives. Umi handed it to Irang. Irang took it, ready to flip it to the reflective side, but Umi held her hand.

“Please do keep in mind,” said Umi, looking Irang directly into the eyes. “There is nothing in this world put out of place. Everything is in its right place.”

Irang nodded. Like the moss that grew in our home out of richness of water and sunlight! I have never wished to get rid of them, Umi. They’re so pretty.

“Indeed,” Umi smiled.

And yet, neither of them did see. Not even from their corner of their eye. That the moss is no longer there, no longer free.

* * *

 September 30th, 2014
rushing to meet the deadline of EyeLevel Literature Award
whilst doubting it to be a children stor
y

(Dream) Stockholm-like Syndrome

July 6th, 2014

We were biking through the alley and are running out of time. There were two of us.

In the middle of the alley, there are bunch of bandits who seem disturbed that we passed through them.

They stood up in our way. We were halted.

Before they bombarded us with further questions, I excused ourselves,

“We were going to a friend’s birthday party. Our friend has been waiting for us.”

I was grabbing a crumpled white paper.

“You’re lying. You think we didn’t know?”

“We’re not!” And we quickly got on our bike and pedaled with all our might.

We’re getting at the end of the alley. The end of the alley was sealed with high iron gate, though there was small opening through which one person can pass.

None of the houses on both side of the alley were familiar to me. Which is weird. The house should be around here.

I opened up the crumpled white paper. A rough sketch written with black ink, we were staring at. It was meant to be guiding route. On the middle there was a circle, and an arrow pointing at it.

My heart sunk.

“We took the wrong way,” I said to my friend.

The thought of having to pass the bandits again horrified me.

“We could use this way.” We passed through the small opening of the iron gate.

We pedaled with all our might.

On our way, I caught a glimpse of familiar person from the corner of my eyes.

It was one of the bandits. He’s the one who accused us of lying. He knew. How could he caught up with us so quickly.

He knew I spotted him. He smirked. I looked back to the front. I have to get there in time. Judging from the sky, it must be around 3. Or 4. Until when it opens? I don’t know. I have to get there as fast as possible.

I cheated on the route. He lost us.

We encountered him again. How could he managed to caught up with us so quickly.

Our bike ran side by side. I did almost an acrobatic move and cuddled him.

He was surprised but then again not resisting.

We were arrived at a building. We were at its fourth floor. We got up through the stairs. After the separating door glass, there are rows of desks and chairs, like they had in offices. Desks, without cubicles. People were typing, making calls, hidden behind piles of papers.

I entered.

“Excuse me, may I meet Mr.–?”

“Oh, he hadn’t arrived yet.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yes, he should’ve come. He should collect the—“

“Oh, are we still able to submit the—?”

“Yes, but you should wait until he comes.” So we waited. Outside the office room.

Behind the glass door. One of the staff called my name. He seemed to know me. I can’t remember who he was.

“How do you know me,” I said.

“Mr.— mentioned two writings to me. One is the— about the—. One is writing about India and its landscapes. Animals, topography, and trees, and detailed others. He applauded these two writings. He mentioned your name when telling me about the second writing. You’re the one who write it, right. I read it. It was laudable.”

“No, I don’t,” I recalled this familiar remark. “There’s someone who think of me as the writer, too, few days ago. But I said I don’t write it. I’m not the writer.”

The secretary-like female staff, that sat behind the male staff I was talking with, glanced at me. Her look was not pleasant.

 

(Dream) How can I pass

July 5th, 2014

I thought it was somewhere on the side of some random train railway. It was night.

On the one side  of the railway, it was the train station. Dim-lighted one.

I was on the other side.
The side, that had stalls of night market, rowing in two opposing rows. The arrangement of the rows created some sort of path leading to a dead-end—because the end of it is the railway.

I was looking for specific thing in this market with my friend—my theatre club mate. He’s the chairman of the theatre club. As usual, he wore black plain shirt along with long black capoeira pants. We were looking for specific something, when he mentioned, “…but we couldn’t pass through. Because of that.”

“That—what?” I said.

He pointed to certain poin in the direction of the railway.

It was night. There’s no sight of train. No road lamp either. Lighting came only from the stalls and the dim-lighted train station.

People were walking to-and-fro freely across the railway. Some were crossing the railway. There’s no sight of train.

I tried looking at the direction he’s pointing at.

“That, what?” Again, I asked.

“Can’t you see the hand–?”

I squinted and I can see—

In between people walking to and fro across the railway, there’s this figure stood out grotesquely.

That thing resembled a cojoined two naked human bodies.
One serves as the lower part: it walked, it carried the other body, but the head was unseen. The other body was carried on the shoulder of the first body, but it only consists of hips downwards—it had no head either. It had penis. And this penis kept on sprinkling sperm to people who’re passing by. Both had pale skin that radiated greenish-white and is luminescent in the lightless night.

I turned my head back. We went to meet our other friend not far from there.
The railway route was formed in u-turn shape. Our friend waited for us at this u-turn point. There’s this dim-lighted public toilet. She sat on the stairs of the public toilet.

She is the chairman’s girlfriend. She was also in her usual attire.

She closed her ears with her hands and closed her eyes very closely.

“Let’s go,” one of us said.

She replied, “How can I pass through if there’s that thing?”

The train came. It took u-turn on a very slow speed.

[Next scene involved the girl lying on the railway. Twice her shirt (along with few lumps of her flesh) stuck in between the train wheel. But she got out alright.]

 

(Dream) Of Car Crash and Cannibalism

January 27th, 2014

We got on taxi. The driver told my brother to just close the door slowly. (Don’t bang it, he said).

Ends up, it won’t shut properly. I tested it by kicking it open, and it opened easily! I protested at the taxi driver. He look back at us and replied in Thai, but I understand he was saying something like ‘I like it this way’.

Right there and then, the car crashed into something like stone pillar. It crashed right in the middle of the front mirror. The driver and the other person in the front seat (apparently there is), kept on looking back at us, as if not disturbed. As if they intend to do this. And we watch it coming towards in slow mo. The stone pillars and shards of glasses and everything flying around. Everything’s in slow mo. Just like an excerpt from horrific surreal movie.

My brother yelled at my ear, “…get out!” and pushed me aside to the left door.

We move at normal speed. Everything’s still in slow mo.

We pulled over on a highway. We climbed through certain cemented wall separator, as you usually see in construction places. In order to get out. Of here.

Things changed.

Behind that cemented wall separator, lies bunch of creatures whose races and shapes I couldn’t recall. They were something from rat family, though the species varies. They were sort of gathering for some sort informal social chatter.

And I’m one of them.

[I saw the following in the first-person perspective:]
I’m a green-stripped white hamster. And there are other white hamsters, too. One pink-stripped, and other in brown stripes.

There’s this all-brown hamster whose shape differs from us (I felt that we’re all similar, except in colours and size). His (or her?) front teeth were unusually long. We are all had long and big pair of front teeth, but hers  are shaped like two long claws. The length almost exceeded her own height and they seemed to be made of iron (they shone sterling gray, ours were white). She got herself closer to me bit by bit.

And she kissed me.

(Yes, I turned into male).

(How exactly does rat kiss? Mine’s closer to pressing-teeth-against-each-other’s than to kissing)

I went all ‘yuckkk!’. It was forced. She was not the girl that I like either.

Then I turned to this pink hamster that’s been watching me for awhile. She’s much bigger than me in size, I’m aware.

[I switched to third-person perspective, witnessing the following:]

The green hamster gets closer and closer to the pink one. The green hamster’s so diminutive in stature. Its size was perhaps only twice the size pink hamster’s eye. Eventually, they kissed.

The green hamster’s so small that this incident happens:
the green hamster disappeared. Accidentally gulped by the pink hamster. But I know it somehow,

that he was happy.

 

09.30 AM
on bus, halfway on our way to Udon Thani

Room number 60

Another dream recap.

——————————————————————————————————————-

It was a drawing exam.
In a class that looked just like my classes back in the elementary school.

We used crayon. We scratched like crazy.
The time was unmercifully limited. And running out.

I drew something so big and so badly proportioned and awfully calculated that I need additional paper to draw on.

“But there’s no blank drawing paper left,” the teacher said. And he didn’t even try to seek for another paper. He was rather indifferent.

I panicked.

But then a college friend I just recently get acquainted to handed me his drawing paper.

“You can draw on the back side,” he said.

And so I did.

The time is up. I collected my drawing (and my friend’s) to the front.

After I got out of the class, I just remembered that I forgot to staple (or sellotape) my two separate drawings.

I just wasted one’s kindness with my foolishness.

——

I reached my dorm, was going to take a bath.

But the electricity was on shortage, so we couldn’t use the shower.

I decided to use a teaspoon to dip the water in order to take the bath

And so did other girls

But there was this girl who borrowed my bathroom, and insisted on using the shower
It apparently was on, functioning properly
And we felt so foolish, wondering why didn’t we try to turn it on

It took awhile for her to take bath. But then it got a little too much awhile. And then too much.
Too long that we wondered what on earth took her that long.

And we knocked on the door. There was no answer.
We knocked harder. Still no answer.

We knocked like crazy.
We screamed for the dorm’s guardian to brought us the spare key.
He couldn’t find it.
We eventually smashed the door.

Room number 60 was not exactly a room.
Its door led directly to a bathroom. But what we found in it startled us more.

The girl was lying on the floor, with face downward, inert. Electrocuted. 
Her long black hair moving in rhythm, according to the flow of water emerging from the shower.
We smelled odour of burnt things. There was burn marks on the glimpse of her face that was visible to our eyes without turning back her corpse. From which the red thick blood kept dripping
and dripping
and dripping…….

dissolving with the flowing water…..

—————————————————

Woken up, I was terrified.
For 60 is the number of my dorm room.

One of few that I could remember so clearly

It’s rather rarely I could remember my dream. It tends to perish within minutes after I wake up. Now that I can recall, guess writing it down wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration.

———————————————————————————————————

I was lying on the bed, there were three of us.
I, my female friend, and a priest.
I forgot what we’re doing back then but then I got so sexually aroused.

And then we stopped, because I and my friend sort of having appointment to attend.
A meeting with another friend.
But I texted the priest, “Do you have other things to do? Mind if I stay with you?”
He replied so nicely that I decided to stay.

My friend fully aware of my intention, said nothing and proceeded going to the house of my other friend

I waited until we (I and the priest) have the moment of two but then there came bunch of guess: a nuclear family consists of a dad, a mom, and two kids. I didn’t know the spouse but those two kids are the sisters of my other female friend. And she was there, too, but apparently not the child of the spouse.

They were having a talk with the priest and by turn borrowing his bathroom to take a bath
They were dressing for some kind of party or invitation they were obligated to attend

And there was an incredibly massive boy who’s having a liposuction and then dropped his sack of fat in the room.
And then left.

I waited and I waited and I waited until we have a moment of two. But people came and went, entering the room turn by turn

So I decided to tell him, despite we were not alone at that moment: there was a girl sitting on the bed.

Before that, I texted my bf: asking the permission for being promiscuous.
He accepted.

And then I told the priest,
“You realise I don’t have any feeling for you, don’t you? I’m just curious of you.”

He seemed neither shocked nor irritated. He asked me to sit on the chair, facing him. He put his hands on the table, making a gesture like a prayer, though his eyes were staring at me.

“Do you know what Sarasvati’s been going through before she acquired the title ‘Goddess of Knowledge’?”

I shook my head.

“She swam by the sea, obligated to seek for A*(SA(Hjkajhsdka when she found………….”

And right at that moment I immersed into the water, swimming between field of algae,
seeking for something,
something…….

And I found some sort of fabric that was hardened due to being damped by salty water (?).

On it there was a writing:

“Sex is just a blanket…………………….”

There was other sentence that followed but I couldn’t recall.
All I can remember is that it made me feel ashamed, terribly terribly bad of my former intention.

And I was forgiven.

———————————————————————————————————————

Fun fact:

Didn’t know anything about Sarasvati besides her being Goddess of Knowledge. Found out that she’s well associated with water and river just now.