Rear Ended

In this dream, I am driving. My car is a large '70s saloon like those found in America. I have a few passengers inside and we are making merry. At a traffic light, we stop. As we were talking, we didn't notice that the car was rolling back. But only just. However, it nudged the car behind.

As it was slight, I didn't think it warranted getting out of the car. However, I noticed through the rear mirror that the other driver was giving livid and getting out of his. So I decided to do the courteous thing and get out as well.

The other driver was really livid and gesticulated loudly at the spot on his car where I had seemingly hit him. I see dents and scratches, as if on a stainless steel surface. It runs the length of his car. Dents like raised ribbons of scars and scratches looking like buffed aluminium. Ok, I get the idea, the side of his car was like a battleground. But I remember thinking, hey I only so slightly bumped you, what has these other scars got to do with me? If anything, it showed that you were the worse driver.

Just then, I realised he was my ex-classmate BH. He's usually very calm and reserved. But now, he is getting all worked up and livid. In fact, in the next moment, he rolled on the floor demanding that I make amends. He rolled back and forth, arms crossed against his chest, throwing his tantrum at the same time. "You were wrong! You should apologise!" I couldn't take it and stuck out a leg to stop him.

I woke up thinking how funny that was, me sticking out a leg and stepping on him to stop him from rolling, like someone stopping a runaway log (small one).

I next drive away into the next town.

Afternote: I try to understand this dream and determine its triggers, but unlike my previous ones, I cannot find any. For the car side scratches, that I get. It resembles the opening sequence of James Bind's 007 Quantum of Solace which was recently shown on prime time TV. Why my usually calm classmate would roll on the floor like that, I haven't a clue. It's not normal even for anybody!

A Stream and a Tiger

I dreamt I was walking along a trunk road just outside a small Malaysian town. Beside me is a little forested area and I step in. A short walk later, I encounter Tony, my secondary school badminton coach. He invites me into his shop. It's a kind of wooden cabin and on its walls are hung all manner of sports equipment. From badminton racquets to mountain climbing gear. The best part is that his shop is cleft by a stream, right down the middle. To get over the other side, you'd have to step on rocks. The stream is bubbling and a-brooking and I find it all very enchanting and excellent for a shop engaged in the business of sports and adventure.

Tony and I chat and recount the good old days when we were but a ragtag bunch badminton players. Our school was small, only a single session, but we had quite a bit of talent. However, it was always just short of the very good playing schools. Still, dressed in our non-uniform gear - we didn't even have school jerseys - we did beat some fancy teams dressed in Yonex from head to toe, especially that memorable match against St Andrews. Like what some people say, looks can be deceiving.

In the next scene, I am in a factory warehouse office. It is open plan and I am working hard at my high stool desk on some handbook and it's already past 5pm. Set and MH, both colleagues from Thomson, are getting ready to leave. We make plans to meet at a pub.

I do meet them at a pub later but there's a commotion. A tiger seems to have gotten loose. We run to hide and get away.

I am in a room and perched on a window ledge. I look into the corridor to see if the tiger is there. Nothing. Then a stripey mat-like piece of raw paper slides down the hall way towards me. I sense that it is the tiger. For some reason it is invisible. the mat wobbles to beckon me to follow and so I do. 'We' arrive at a storeroom near the end of the corridor. Inside, there is a litter of pups; they seem hungry.

I go to the pub next door and get some raw steaks and feed it to them.

Later, when MH, Set and I are settled down for our beers, the tiger mom - looking emaciated - comes and thanks me. It doesn't say a word nor makes a sound... just gives me a grateful look. It then turns and returns to its pups.

MH and I wonder what a strange night it has been and continue to drink our beers.

An Old Chinese School

I am standing on a footpath beside a tall tour bus near the Golden Mile Food Centre, that place that sells military gear. I board the bus and finds a seat near the back. I look at the seats in front. They are beige and trimmed in yellow. I smile, surprised that such a color scheme works. But mostly, I find myself feeling vulnerable. Stabbed in the back?

I am in an alley, typical of those found in Geylang. I am standing just inside what seems to be the backdoor of a restaurant. Everything is in slow motion. A rather portly guy in one of those ah pek (old man) cotton white shirts, probably the cook, walks in brushing past me. He mutters something. But as it is all in slow-mo, I cannot make out what he is saying. A helper then brushes past me with an aluminium basin. I see that flash of metal clearly.

Wooden tables and chairs are placed in the alley, food is served. The same men now sit and eat, chopsticks moving from dish to mouth, rice to mouth. They talk between mouthfuls. Not far are hung bird cages.

I am in a small field looking at a wall and through a doorway, one of those old ones with a rounded top and wooden door that opens to the back alley. I can still see the men eating.

I seem to be in a compound  of a school. By its architecture, it looks like a Chinese school, the sort with simple lines. The ground floor is a void space filled with tables and benches. A canteen? But the 'stalls' are closed and shuttered. The shutters are the old accordion type, metal and painted silver. From a distance I can see that the shutters are also painted with the Taoist deity images of the God of Heaven and Heaven's Emperor - figures normally found on joss paper and hell money.

I turn and see the other side of the field. It is not smooth. Earth has been churned up, turning the landscape into a series of cracks and gulleys. One false step and an ankle would sprain. It all goes down a mezzanine slope. Two kids, girls, are playing catching on a bald flat patch. A group is approaching; they had climbed through a sorry gap in the chain-link fence that bounds the field. They need help climbing up that broken slope. The group consists of ang mo tourists. The women are mature and all dressed in 50s fashion, including wearing those pointed spectacles. They ask for directions and I tell them.

I am now walking along a shophouse five-foot way. Shopnames in red relief Chinese characters on cream-colored pillars flash past. The place looks old and dated. Light is low; it must be dusk. Again, everything is in slow-mo. I look up. Ahead swing some bird cages. Bird noise mixed with traffic noise into a sort of busy emotion. It's soundless though. With that I wake.

A Christmas Mug

I am dressed in a 30s outfit of pin-striped suit and Panama hat. We have just arrived at a dusty town. Around us are wooden buildings. It feels like a cowboy town. We enter a simple white concrete building. It reminds me of those I've seen in Hengchun, Taiwan - dusty, paint peeling.

We climb the stairs and enter an office, it seems to be having a Christmas party. On a table next to a decorated Christmas tree by the entrance is stacked white mugs printed with a cartoon dancing bear in Santa costume. The bear looks like the mommy bear in Brave, Pixar's recent movie. There are words like 'The World's Greatest Dad'. I am reminded of a mug given by an ex-gf now deceased. The mug she gave me had a cartoon of a loopy girl portrait with the words 'Only Someone Out Of Their Mind Would Fall In With Love You'. I still have that mug.

The cars outside rev. I can tell from the sound that they have been souped up. The sound of superchargers with hundreds of angry horses reined inside. I finish a fruit punch and return to the car.

We drive through a city, streaks of orange and red lights (like some timelapsed night photo) weave in and out in front. The whole place is bathed in out-of-focus neon light. Is this HK? Taipei? A scene from Inception? I can't say.

I am on a ship and travelling. I lift a lid and emerge topside by a gangway. The weather is bright and clear and the wind is strong, caused in part by the boat's high speed. A sandy island looms, we slow down. Someone is putting finishing touches to a sand sculpture. It's a pair of woman legs in the birthing position. Kids emerge laughing, patting themselves free of sand. One looks like Elijah Wood, the other looks like Martin Freeman. I cannot tell who the third person is. A man nearby is videographing the whole scene.

I am back in the village once more sitting on an upturned bucket in what looks like a car workshop. A car is jacked up three feet up in the air, bonnet opened. And I am wondering why it is taking so long. I then wake up.

Fugitive in China

In this dream, I am working in China. First as an English language teacher and then a writer at a publishing house.

The scene opens with me by the side of a building looking through a dirty four-paned window. Children on the other side are singing. My heart is heavy as I contemplate leaving town.

There had been a misunderstanding. My place was raided by the police. They were looking for something. I am uneasy and distrust the police and China's judicial system. A TV hangs from a corner in the alley, it is showing someone aiming and firing a gun in a supermarket. Goods on shelves fly off. Did I do that? Questions.

I move on and am now walking. The road is dusty and a truck rumbles by.

I am in an office. I seem to be close to this new girl, an intern. The office has a few desks all arranged in neat rows front-to-back. It's still using CRT computer monitors. By the side a large sliding cupboard. Inside are things that belong to that girl. Each morning, before stepping out, she would put things into her sling bag. There's a notebook and disc. A thing that worries me is the gun. The girl seems to be using the gun to protect herself. She comes across as a revolutionary or government provocateur. The gun is a large one like a Colt 45.

One day, she fails to return. Her boyfriend, who works in the office, comes looking for her. In a conspiratorial tone, I open the cupboard and take out the gun. I seem to tell him to hide it and not let anyone know. It would be BIG trouble.

I am on the road again. I am in a spa town. A plump lady all wrapped up in towels is asking me for English lessons and seem impatient.

The scene switches and I am back in China on the run. I'm in a room, an empty one with cement floor. It seems to be a spacious lavatory and the cubicles have no doors. A cheap faded blue bag lies on the floor. I unzip it to find stationery items inside. I seem to think there are just too many items, so I repack the bag. I use pages taken from a magazine to wrap the items into a block. It is now a nice rectangular block that fits nicely into the bag. A man calls out. He asks me to take a look at the toilet. Above the squatting bowl where the pipe leads up to the cistern is cement. It's in the shape of Singapore. I don't say anything. But the man says: "How come got ants?"