Dreams

Everyone dreams; some people like them, some people hate them, some people interpret them, others couldn’t be bothered with them. Ancient people believed that dreams were premonitions or signs warning them of the future, coming up with a score and more interpretations for all kinds of dreams. Psychoanalysts thought that dreams were echoes of the repressed psyche, a sort of channel for humans to release their pent-up sexual perversions. Although this idea is now considered as a product of the demonization of sex back during the Victorian era, Freudian interpretations are still (pretty widely) used to interpret dreams today, together with the grimoires of old.

Whether dreams are merely ‘noise’ in our brains, or a message from some paranormal entity, it is indisputable that dreams form one of the weirdest aspects of our life. In our dreams, the orderly laws of reality and logic are not as binding; opening up an avenue for even the most amazing and outlandish things to happen. As a matter of fact, many writers, artists and sometimes, even scientists draw their inspiration and ideas from the land of dreams for their work.

As an aspiring writer myself, most of my earlier ideas also originated from the realm of Morpheus. However, as I grew up, I started dreaming less and less (or perhaps I started remembering my dreams less and less) until I realised that most of the time, I awoke to a memory of darkness, no dreams, nothing at all. Whether that is a good or bad thing remained to be seen, back then, but I guess I did not really mind the respite from life sleep provides. It is an efficient channel to forget, washing away all emotions; happiness, elation, fears and sorrow, in one fell swoop.

Lately, I have been dreaming a lot more. My friends have attributed it to tiredness, to stress, to food, to exercise, to everything under the sun, the moon and the stars. Why this happened, I may never know. But after many strange and bizarre dreams (of which not all were pleasant), I have come to enjoy this little vacation away from being me. After all, there isn’t much fun in being me; life in a Singaporean university is often stressful and unrewarding, and me being me, there are not much outlets for me to drain all these negative emotions into anyway.

My dream last night was the most bizarre yet. It was never fun to dream of being hunted, and this one proves to be no exception. The fear and anxiety was so thick in the atmosphere; it was almost palpable. It had all the hallmarks of some backwater sci-fi movie; a desolate world, little (if any) humans, super-predators out for your skin, blood, mutilation, death, destruction, the whole nine yards. I think I even recall some form of cannibalism being practiced, now my memory has been jogged. There was even this group of sickos who mutilated people to squeeze them (still alive) into small boxes, and them put them on display. Kind of reminds me of Vlad the Impaler, only this one group’s imaginary.

Ahh… Perhaps I really do need more rest. If my subconscious is tired enough to conjure sick images in my dreams, it probably is high time to do so anyway.

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