Old Buddies

Old Buddies

This dream involves some of my old OCS buddies, esp those who are more active in our current Whatsapp group.

It starts with us in the room we share. It's a compact bedder, and there are roughly six to eight of us. 
We are discussing what to do next, where to go, etc.

I take our empty kettle and head for the water dispenser at the end of the corridor. It is a "T-junction" where a folding table is put up against the wall. The table, with its pearl colored top and aluminum trim reminds me of a hospital. In fact, a nurse is found there and she tells me this hostel we are in was once an insane asylum. The place is brightly lit, so any notion of it being haunted seem remote.

I don't give much notice to what the nurse says and head back.

Once inside the room (it is dark) I am surprised by a prank the guys had installed. There is Chew, Alex, Ling, etc. Poh shouts a forewarning and I quickly leap. Some kind of fireworks go off that seem like a bunch of weeds striking at my groin. In any case, no damage is done and I laugh it off. We all laugh. Fun times.

We then make preparations to leave.

We are now on the outside and looking back I can see that our room was part of a long shed. It is made of wood. Tong was behind and hurried behind a row of bushes. He either wanted to use the tap there or to relieve himself.

The security guard makes a passing remark as we head out.

Soon we find ourselves walking in an area that's dusty and full of rock outcrops. It reminds me of the rockies in Colorado. Gerard and I are in conversation and we commend on how the moon looked spectacular this particular night.

In no time we reach a village with congested wooden abodes squeezed haphazardly by each other. Somehow it feels Chinese, like maybe a mining town back during the time of California's Gold Rush. I am wary and tell the guys to watch out. The sense is that someone might leap out of a window and rob us.

Behind, someone approaches, a young man in a dusty mackintosh. Tong too appears and is moving in a stealthy fashion behind the stranger, darting into doorways to avoid being seen. I feel good to have a buddy watch our backs.

I catch up to the guys and see them in a kitchen that sells cut fruits. Their backs are to me as they help themselves to the tasty treats. A lady boss speaks to me - a middle-30s PRC sort - and extols the virtues of her fruits, how fresh she keeps them, etc. I just feel glad that my guys are having a good time.

Next, I see myself arriving at the edge of a city, a parking spot where a grass patched kerb and big tree stands. Beyond that, a network of highways and flyovers.

The dream ends here.

An Old Friend in an Old Town

I was surprised by this dream. First of all it's long. It also has some elements of an old dream involving an old friend I have not met for a long time. I'm surprised I recalled and dreamt about it.

The dream is unusual in another way: it is multifaceted. To understand, let's begin.

**The Jade Car

The dream starts with me in a semi-detached bungalow. It appears to be my mom's home (in real life she stays in a small, cozy flat). We are all getting ready to leave. My mom has been invited to an old friend's place and we are to travel there in two separate cars. I leave and brush past the MPV parked in family driveway. On its back D column, I could see that the surface of the van is made of dark green jade. The jade is streaked in blackish cloud lines commonly found in expensive jade. The cloud patterns are regular and paisley minuscule in shape.

The other car parked outside by the kerb is a wide saloon reminiscent of something Chrysler might have make in the early-70s/late-60s.

My ex-GF is waiting there and so is tall, lanky guy with 70s hair, pants and shirt. He reminds me of some party guy from a band who is out to annoy folks because, well, he could.

I pile into this second car with them. The lanky guy decides (purposely) to get in-between me and my Ex in the backseat. Throughout the whole journey, with every roll of the car, he would pretend to lean exaggeratedly on her making her feel rather violated. She would then hug her handbag tighter and squirm further deeper in the corner. Finally, after the umpteenth time, I decide to get in between them. My Ex is relieved and rests her head on my shoulder. The tall, lanky guy makes no fuss and whistles away as if nothing has happened.

I notice my girlfriend's ear and remember the countless times I've whispered sweet nothings into it, not to mention the affectionate nibbles I've bestowed upon it. The scenes outside the window roll by, seemingly wistful.

I had dated this Ex because we shared an interest in photography (she introduced me to Henri-Cartier Bresson) and were from the same dialect group, Cantonese. After we broke up, I've often wondered how she got on. We've never met again.

**A Wooden Town

After a while, we arrive at my mom's old friend's place. It is in the middle of an old street (Chinatown?) which is itself in the middle of a warren of houses that looks rather Dickensian in structure and haphazardness. The facade of this old friend's home is paneled with curvish wood the color of teak but lacquered to give it sheen. Some of the other nearby buildings have beams that are painted black.

The curved panel wood reminds me of those half logs popular in Chinese carpentry. You know, those that follow the semi-circle geometry common in, say, Chinese coffins. Used on buildings, they look robust and strong.

I size up the facade but has no idea as to how big the home is or how wide. Buildings in this particular warren seems to mesh into one beast with no apparent beginning or end.

Inside, the home is surprisingly not unlike any semi-detached bungalow with its tiled floors, pastel wall paint, semi-French windows, guest hall, dining room, etc. It even has a round pedestal Chinese vase standing in one corner offering up a spread of tall, pink spring blossoms.

I look out of one of these windows and expect to see a garden. Instead, the whole ground has been turned into a wading fountain calf-deep in water filled with carp, lotus, and lily pads. In the middle and commanding much space is a black marble slab carved and shaped into the Chinese word "sow" for longevity. It lies horizontal and faces the sky. Water flows over it and off its edges and into the pool below.

I've been in this home for a while and get bored. I decide to leave to explore the neighborhood and see what kind of shops there might be out there.

I look around for an exit and see a flat panel door by the indoor staircase. I intuitively think it will lead to the outside. It does.

**Into the Rabbit Hole

Ok, it is not exactly Alice in Wonderland but as I stepped through the small panel door that's half my height, I stumble into a corridor that's more like a crawlspace. Perhaps it is a chute that exists between buildings. It is made of plywood and box-like and one could sit upright in it.

I see a similar panel opening opposite and so crawl into it. Didn't look like I have much choice.

**An Old Friend

Because of the awkward height of this panel door, I had some difficulty extricating my leg and so stumble my way in. I fall back and immediately, someone pins me to the ground. It is my old friend, Loon.

He has the same shaggy hair and those "far-away" eyes.

He doesn't speak. In my dream he looks at me as if staring  up close into a camera. His eyes are moist as if remembering something painful. It is pleading too, asking if I feel the same pain. I watch, transfixed.

Then his lips purse up an earring. It is one of those small ones that curve round the lobe. It is gemstoned in pastel colors. Lilac and pink. Was it from a past love that he is recalling now?

In a moment, the other half of the same earring, as if to answer my question.

After a while he retreats and I raise myself up. Resting on one elbow, I chat with him.

Loon and I had done projects before. Once, it was a rotating head with arrows of mental illness types stucked into it. It was for a national exhibition to promote mental health. Another time, it was woodworking, costume making and game design for a live role-playing game. We were both into sci-fi then.

Loon's room is quite the same as the corridor. Plywood and box-like and he has to stoop his head to move about. I think that's the image I remember Loon of most. Stooped, as if having worked long hours, but his eyes betray a brain that's constantly thinking, creating. His eyes were kind though.

After some chitchat, Loon points me to a shop whom he is working with. Loon is an illustrator and stage designer. He did Singapore's first digital comics panel for a local Sunday paper.

Where is the shop? I ask.

We both exit his capsule room and end up in a shop that reminds me of a perfume showroom, you know, the kind that you find at shopping malls? The ones with counters of particular brands of make-up and parfum?

I chat with the girls there and found them to be a conviable bunch. They are young and eager to share. I wanted to return the hospitality by showing them a funny video I saw on Youtube.  It was a ROFL kind of video from a Learn Japanese Through Exercise class.

However, no matter which computer or laptop we used, it was not possible to get online.

In fact, some of the keyboards they showed me looked decidedly like Victorian steam-punk gadgets. Or some would be made of colorful plastics. But still no access to Google and Youtube. In fact, some of the gagdets were not unlike calculators or cash registers that are part of their countertops.

The whole place has a candy Japanese "kawaii" feel about it. Not too garish, but fun and comfortable with make-up lights et al.

I then want to use my phone to access the internet and realise that I've left it at my mom's friend place.

I meet the boss, who is a kindly lady dressed in a pink jacket blouse and black skirt. The fashion looks decidedly Korean.

Seeing how handy I was with the gadgets and stuff, the lady offers me a job. I feel it has more to do with the Communications aspect of my work experience. She confides that she does need someone to look after the marketing of her products.

At that, I wonder about the whole place and what it is like. Well, a marketer does need to know his area and base of ops!

Next, I leave the shop and find myself outside where we had first arrived earlier. I am now standing on a cobbled street and looking up at a house with black painted wooden beams and a room that juts out....the kind that reminds one of Dickensian times.

Am I in old London?

The next scene flits to an afternoon tete-a-tete with another ex-GF. We are sitting round a small red foldable table and having coffee. It reminds of a scene that leads to another dream. But no chance. I wake.

The end. (Here it is, the hilarious "I Have A Bad Case Of Diarrhea" Youtube video.)

Of Dead Leaves and Gummy Leaches

This is an interesting dream. And like most of my dreams, they seem to come from left field with no ties to my present state of mind or what some dreamiesters would attribute to "stress" in my life. Really, if you are not in my shoes, I feel you will have a hard time trying to solve the puzzle that are my dreams.

Ok, this dream came after watching three Euro matches two of which went to extra time, one that even began at 3 am and ended close to 6 am. Did fatigue have something to do with this particular dream?

I must admit. To avoid feeling like a zombie in the morning, I actually sleep-watched my football games, napping when my eyes are tired and waking (usually) later in the match. Amazingly, I did not miss any crucial parts of the matches, nor any goals (or replays of them, haha).

The dream started with some kind of fun chase. We were running along a narrow boardwalk that lined a beach front that had folks sitting down for evening coffee or light meals. Above them were strung the usual ambient light bulbs giving the place a bit of a festive air.

Why were we running? I think an earlier part of the dream had us accosted by some person or dog at a kampung area (a 'kampung' is an Asian rural area of wooden houses with thatched or zinc roofs) where I believe someone was  thrusted against a wooden wall. I know, it sounds kind of violent. Maybe it was. I would have to recall more.

In any case, as we ran, in a presumably joyful mood, I then climbed a ringed staircase, you know, the sort found on antenna towers for service folks, I bumped into a drain gutter and roof. I was then showered with all kinds of detritus - dead leaves, dust, soil bits, etc. I was totally plastered, as if I had rolled in the stuff itself.

Getting back on the ground, I tried to get the stuff off. But to no avail. The more I tried to shake it off, the more the stuff would come back. Imagine ants crawling all over you and the more you brush them off, the more would come back.

However, what's coming back is not ants but soil-like dust. Or dark, wet Chinese tea-leaf bits, you get my drift. Or black volcanic sand, the kind that's found on the southern beaches of Bali. The ones that will stick to your wet body.

Then there were also the gummy-like patches in the color of tanned skin. At first I thought I was suffering from some form of measles, but as the patches grew darker (and raised) I picked up courage to peel them off. And glad they came off without tearing my skin. I would do the same with the other drier, scab-like patches.

In the end, I was finally free from this horrific skin condition and sat down for tea with someone who felt like my mom (or an actress playing the part of my mom). We sat outside a kampung house and had teh-C orleng, my kind of teh-C beverage. The scene reminded me of the Chinese kampung along Jalan Cheng Hwa or even the one in present day Pulau Ubin kampung.

There were scenes of an earlier conflict, maybe a gang fight even, but the memory is foggy. And sitting there enjoying the tea, we seemed to be watching a rally of some sort.

The end.

Batik Shirt

I am in a meeting with a couple. They are Thai, skinny and youngish looking. Why, I am surprised when they tell me they are both 27 and 33 respectively. I had thought they were just in their late teens or early 20s.

We are in a cafe in a shopping mall, the kind with a large atrium. A few floors up and sitting at a cubicle table along the corridor. It is day, and very bright. The shopping centre feels familiar, like the one I had visited in a dream before. It has three high-rise circular sections, each with its own atrium and information counter.

The meeting starts. The couple are concerned. At this point I learn who I am. I am their English tutor and they are about to go overseas for studies. They wonder if they are making the right decision. I tell them it is never too late to study and it is always good to have a degree - for reason of career and personal advancement.

I ask if they are engaged; they both nod. I said "Really?" and they both nod again. I am not sure why I have to affirm this bit of info. There seems to be some kind of family values involved. 

I then recall being at their family home and being with their family members. It was a happy, casual occasion.

After this first meeting I return to Singapore. I remember going via the Causeway so I must have landed in JB and taken the land road home. I did, after all, lived in nearby Marsiling before.

I also remember leaving the cafe and browsing over some clothing shop. The shirts there had patterns similar to Indonesian batik. I checked my wallet and realised I had a few notes left and just enough foreign currency to get home.

We are now at our second meeting. It's at the same location. Everything is cheery, and it appears that much have been decided upon. The couple are happy and give me a brown batik shirt as a gift. It is not cotton but one made of polyester and cotton mixed. Maybe rayon. But it fits me nicely. My shoulders and chest look buff.

Later, I meet MH and Set on the taxi home and they compliemented on my shirt. I told them I was on work assignment in Thailand.

At the shopping centre after my meeting with the couple I leave. But there seems to be a commotion downstairs at the atrium. People are fleeing and I am being swept along. We run to the back of the building and find ourselves in some back maintenance/loading area with big pipes running along the walls. They are painted in a dirty mustard yellow color. The whole place looks a bit grungy.

I escape to the outside and walk along a kampung road. It is a dirt road with a grassy stream running beside it. Ahead are padi feilds and coconut trees. The scene reminds me of a kampung from my godma's condo on the outskirts of Malacca.

I get into a taxi and meet MH and Set. Not long after they compliment me on my batik patterned shirt. I again look into my wallet and find few notes there.

The end.

Spiderman and a Demon

This dream is rather unusual flying one. It starts off at the screening of two Spider-man movies in a gym (the old tall secondary school type) and the teacher - a pretty one looking businesslike in shirt and tight skirt, colors actually looking like a casino croupier - grilling us on the differences between the two.

The movies were about a good and bad Spider-man. It was also about the abilities of the superhero. I somehow feel indignant and think I could do a better job at 'flying' (Spider-man was more about swinging). I suddenly begin to float like I often do in such 'flying dreams' of mine - this time floating in a gentle but uncontrollable way like a drone ascending uncertainly.

Weirdly, the teacher doesn't seem to notice and I do more calisthenics in the air before exiting the hall and floating outside.

We are in a small godown area by the sea, all very Greece-like in sparsity, colors (sea blue) and sea.

Or in some deserted seaside industrial part of Malaysian town such as Pontian.

The dream then changes focus and we are suddenly haunted and hunted down by a possessed being which is both male and fierce.

I am running through this unruly field next to an industrial part of town and ushering a young girl along. n my arms a baby. We appear afraid of what might be following us. That it might catch up and take over our spirit and body.

We reach two old but tall blocks of HDB flats. Those built in 70s with shops below. A rather old and familiar scene. Provision shops with tarps extending to shade sundry goods spilling out from the corridor.

I go for the lift. An old man on a grandfather bike approaches and appear ready to fight the demon.

I tell him we need to go to the hall.

The baby, girl and I reach the hall, but the old man cannot be found. His bike lay sprawled in a stairwell. Has he been battling the demon?

The girl and I wonder if we can tell if the demon has possessed someone. Just then the old man appears, his demeanor now changed and looking like he could eat us up.

We retreat as we consider our options as to what to do. The room grows dark and menacing.

The end.

A Bike Light

An old dream revisited. Recurring dreams haven't happened to me in a while, so I was rather surprised by this one in the dawn hours of the morning.

The dream starts of with me fixing a small bike light that's a clip-on (belt) the size of a cigarette lighter pouch (i.e. the Dupont GI lighter kind), than a full-sized head lamp. It is quite flat and rectangular and newsy with its blue LED light. I am trying to fit two wires into their respective wire posts (a technical term such things); I am trying to fix it with one hand, the other hand not quite sure why not free.

There are three wire posts and I've gotten one wire in; I'm struggling with the other two and trying to twist them thin to fit, not so easy with just one hand. The blue LED light works but I have to get the other two wires in to have the white light come on.

All this while, I am walking to a gathering area that seems to be a small cultural plaza with a raised modern art area (at where some students are sitting and in discussion). I think a movie of sorts is being screened as well. My god-sister Carmen is there (she's not in the original dream though) and she asks about my well-being. We then chit-chat a bit.

I continue to fiddle with the bike light on my belt.

I sit with my god-sister for a while. The next scene see me getting up and walking the corridor at the edge of the plaza that is leading to a supermarket. It is night and the s-mart is closed. I reach the end and enter what appears to be a small theater. My friend CK is there seated at the back. He gives me his typical smiley hello. He is wearing a yellow headscarf over his bald pate, not something I've seen him with before. It looks like a kind of temple scarf with red Taoist rune letterings.

I sit down and wonder about what's going on on the movie screen.

Again I fidget with the bike light to try to get the wires in.

Watching the movie, I am transported back to my NS days. I see myself in a new green field uniform, of a camouflage pattern I have never seen or worn before. In the old days, we wore the old patchy "camo-pattern" ones, not these new pixelated ones that's common to most modern armies now.

In the next scene, I am climbing down from a tank. Must have been a tank on show as everything looked clean and posey. I am reminded of the night I had spent at the local officer cadet academy grounds in Jurong enjoying the midnight quiet and starry sky, and wondering what I would have become if I had signed-on (i.e. joined professionally) to the army. The academy grounds did once have a display tank there.

In the next scene, I am returned to the plaza and back to wearing the same windbreaker as before. Again I fidget with the bike light to get the wires in. Again, without much success.

The end.

A Tent Dinner

This dream is a follow-up to the one I had before.

A big outdoor tent dinner has been planned and I am now going there to check if things are running smoothly. 

Buntings have been hung up from nearby street lamps. The whole place reminds me a well-landscaped industrial park with gentle grass knolls and quiet streets.

For this assignment, I have been given a nearby and smallish studio flat to stay in. It has some kind of water issue at the place.

The shower with shower head is in the living room (that shows how small the place) and so I move the mattress I sleep on to a raised platform to avoid getting it wet. 

I also take care not to wet a pile of my everyday clothes nearby, especially my underwear which appears to be of an expensive brand (haha).

(This 'do-not-wet' theme was in my original dream too!)

Outside it has just rained and now the streets are rather cold, wet-shiny.

Next, I am on my way back from checking the dinner event site. Across the road is a nondescript office building. The office on the ground floor has glass walls all round. Inside is a state-of-the-art photocopier. 

I then take the lift up upstairs and end up in an office where people are preparing to print the dinner reservations. An older woman appears to be in charge and giving orders. She peers out from a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose. We exchange an acknowlegdement and that's that. All around, tables are littered with cut paper sheets and such.

I look for an empty space at one of the long tables and sit down for a while. A while later I exit this workroom to go to the rooftop. The walls all round appears to be really grey and boring.

Back on the street I notice a black MPV parked by the road. Inside is a father and his kids.

I approach to invite them to the aforementioned dinner as they appear to be tourists and I wanted to do the hospitable thing. But half way there, I change my mind. Meanwhile, their car has started up at the same time and making a u-turn to get back onto the main road.

So be it, I say to myself.

It has been a wet day but I am confident that by evening everything would be dry. The sky, though grey, appear to be clearing. It feels like dusk at about 6 pm.

I meet some older members of the Association at the dinner and we chat. An assistant arrives - a big chap who reminds me of an NPCC (cadet corp) schoolmate I once knew. Can it be that we have organised some big event in school before and this is what this dream is all about?

The End

A Sandwich Shop

I have never dreamed myself in a sandwich shop before, which is kind of unusual. It is not as if I've never been in one before. But in Sg we  never had a "make it yourself" sandwich shop. I think people here are too "kiasu" for such a concept to succeed. Folks would simply waste food (stuffing their sandwich) to make their money's worth.

That notwithstanding, I would love to see the kind of falafel sandwich stalls one sees in Amsterdam. Man, those pita pockets are delicious! And you get to fill them up yourself. More greens? No prob. More falafel balls? Well, on certain days you can. 

Despite all that, I do remember a sandwich place in the business district of Shenton Way. I am not sure if they are still here. It was a two-joint establishment: one side a small morning-coffee cafe for standing customers only; the other, a shop space with see-thru fridges filled with a variety of prepacked sandwiches like those sold by 7-Eleven convenience store. Great for "grab and go" hungry office folks. The idea works well during lunch time too where folks could eat a sandwich, have a cuppa and catch up with some reading at a huddle cocktail table.

The sandwich shop I was in in my dream last night is a small one. It reminds me of a similarly tight-spaced Japanese noodle stall I once patronised in Tokyo. There is room enough only for a single-line queue. There's no way anyone can overtake to move faster or jump queue. Everybody filled their sandwich as if they shuffled along like in a slow-moving conveyor queue!

You start with toast bread and top it up with food bits along the queue. The food bits (i.e. fillings for the sandwich) are all contained in small stainless steel bins hanging off the wall rails like some Ikea concept. There are two rows of food: the hanging small food bins and below, the bigger stainless trays with the messier stuff such as baked beans. I note that the beans are warm and steamy. As often is in such a buffet place, the counter top is messy with spilled bits of food everywhere. Otherwise the stainless steel rails and bins do look very clean.

I proceed to top up my toast with beans and lettuce and other stuff.

In the next scene, I am done buying my sandwich and seem glad to stagger out of the shop. A late afternoon sun blinds me and I shield my eyes from it. I am also trying to balance my baked bean drenched sandwich in one hand and and a stainless steel cup of coffee in the other. The cup seems to be clothed in some heat-resistant black polyurethane material. The coffee does not spill as the cup has a screw-on lid.

Like everybody else, I start to look for a place to sit to eat my sandwich.

There is none. And as I am in a side street, I simply sit in the middle and proceed to munch my sandwich. No sooner have I sat down, a car comes and I have to get up. I place my sandwich on top of my coffee cup and put it aside. Baked beans drip down from its sides. That's the lingering image I have of that scene: Coffee cup on the tarmac with some baked beans dripping down the side of a sandwich. Hmm...

After the car passes, I pick up my coffee and kick whatever spilled beans on the road to one side, trying to tidy up. I then join a crowd that's also looking for a place to eat their sandwich. Someone from the shop suggested a nearby place and we all head in that direction.

This new place is quite 'jazzy' and on its walls are life-sized Art Deco-style charcoal sketches of popular figures. There's even one of Lee Kuan Yew, Singapore's first prime minister. He is smiling and dressed in a club-like kind of suit (a white one which I think I've seen him wear before).

We all look around the place some more and eventually find some 1960s sofa chairs to sit in. They have vinyl seats and slim rounded legs that taper, very classic designs from that era. The coffee tables come with matching formica tops too.

The End

Street Market in Kuala Lumpur

In this dream, I am sitting in the lotus position and floating over a street market in KL. (Not for the first time, mind you; I've "lotus-floated" over quite a few places in my dreams before.) I seem to be in an old part of town, maybe "she cheong gai" street market (i.e. Petaling Street Market).

This time I  start slow and cannot get enough height. I bobble up and down trying to gain lift.

A shopkeeper stares at me. I try again to gain height but fail and knock over a leather luggage bag from a high shelf in the street. He goes to pick it up but doesn't seem annoyed; he was more amused than anything, almost as if he has seen me do this before. Still, I am embarrassed by my mistake and apologise profusely and try again to gain lift again. I fly pass another big stall that juts out into the street. It sells tee-shirts. I can read the ones hung at the top. I am that low, still trying to float above 'em stalls. 

Finally, with some added will, I am able to rise and fly at normal height which is about three storeys high. I reach the end of the street market and come to a road river bridge where I see Ah Keong. He is a neighbour from my teenage years.

We great each other. Ah Keong's looks and build reminds me of a 90s HK TV actor who always acted in eager and entrepreneurial young men roles. Like him, Ah Keong too has a bit of a squint eye.

We walk along a five-foot way and reach a turn; a short flight of stairs lead to another cluster of quaint-looking shops. Their merchandise  goods spilling out into the sidewalk.

Ah Keong seems to know the bosses there and acts like a Member of Parliament on his rounds greeting and handing out his name cards. I have this feeling that his actions may be a bit over-the-top.

He turns to tell me that he knows a friend who owns an eyewear shop nearby.

We look for a place to sit and chat. Eventually we arrive at a cafe with 50s-style modern interior, one I have seen in an old HK movie starring Cheong Ying, Wu Fong and pretty Lam Fung... all popular stars from the 60s.

I realise I do not have any ringgit (Malaysian currency) with me, only Sg dollars. The lady boss at the cashier station is kind and says "no problem".

Ah Keong and I settle down to chat.

I ask Ah Keong his occupation and he tells me that he is into application software. He says he is also into a few other things. I didn't ask him to elaborate suspecting that not all are legitimate activities.

He asks me what I think of the software industry and I share my opinion as I've covered that field as a journalist for many years attending conferences and interviewing industry players.

He is impressed. He decides to call more friends to listen to me. I am surprised but not displeased.

At the next table I meet an old friend, a lady who was  a director in a publishing company I had worked in before.

I introduce her to Ah Keong. They exchange name cards. Embarrassingly, it takes me a moment to remember her name. She was called Suan or something like that. We have had a very professional friendship in the past. She still likes me and I am glad to see her again. She is a wonderful combination of smarts and lady-like grace.

More people begin to stream into the cafe.

I step out to take a breather, feeling good but somewhat overwhelmed by the large number of people Ah Keong has called to listen to my talk. They fill about two long tables.

Outside, an Indian executive with greying hair squats down next to a chalkboard to try to explain something. He draws a curvy graph relating knowledge with age. Mine seems more to the right, signalling that my knowledge may not be as in-job as it should be. I tell him that my knowledge is that of a journalist's: more worldly than scholarly. I also mention that the graph does not indicate a person's analytic ability (where my value lies). I tell myself these graphs don't matter as my insights are uniquely my own.

I go back into the cafe to begin my talk.

In the very next dream sequence, I am back with Ah Keong in a somewhat deserted street lined with old shoprow houses. 

I learn more about him. Physically, he is a strapping chap and quite tough. He appears to be married with wife and young daughter.

We walk and talk some more. Eventually, I tell him I have to get going. Ah Keong then reminds me of the direction to take to get to the street market in case I come visit again. 

It starts to rain. I quickly increase my pace and reach a corner road junction that is recognised for its giant baobab tree. It reminds of a similar road junction in Malacca. I turn to make my way home feeling glad to have the rain beat down on me. It is both exhilarating and a release. My one regret has always been not keeping in touch with Ah Keong. We both played badminton for our constituency during our younger days and had some adventures motorbiking around in JB.

The end.

Taiwan Expo

In this dream, I am in Taiwan and attending an expo for Electronics engineers. The expo itself is conducted in a large Chinese pavilion that's about a third of a Suntec exhibition hall; it also reminds me of a building in Singapore's Chinatown. On this particular day, there are not many people around.

Esther (an ex-colleague) is there with me. We go through the pavilion looking at the many gadgets and components on display there. Men in suits are keen to show and explain their wares but we quickly move on. We seem more interested in what's new in the field of Manufacturing.

When it is time to go, Esther and I take the same minibus back to where we live. Our hands find each other and for the first time, we let them clasp. We turn to look at each other and that familiar longing returns. It has been like this since the day we first met. It was in the passenger lift of our office building, the one we always rode from ground floor to our office on the third. Our eyes had met and we both smiled... Like two old friends from an age long ago. We are that familiar with one another. Or feel that way always. 

Now in Taiwan and free from prying eyes and gossip, we could finally express how we feel without restraint.

I slip my fingers into Esther's own and lock them together affectionately. Holding hands like this we continue our journey. A real gladness starts to glow in my heart as if I had finally righted a missed opportunity. I now realise my initial attraction to Esther was a genuine one borne out of an ageless love and concern.

The starts to climb a hilly two-lane road. Cars and small pickups whiz by. As the bus tutted to the crest, we reach a small apartment building that is partially set into a hill. Usually such a building would be a temple of sorts but this was a condo instead. By the cavernous entrance, a lift.

Esther then signals to the bus driver to alight. She grabs her coat and motions to the exit which is just a seat away in front. I watch as she crosses the road. I like the confidant and womanly way she walks, something I have always admired when I watch her disappear between cubicles back in our office.

Upon reaching the other side of the road, Esther pauses at the lift landing. The hill cliff and its plants hang high above her head. She looks back across the road towards me; there is a longing in her eyes. She seems a bit sad that we are parting. Whenever she feels like that, her rosebud lips would part a little into a hurt/uncertain pout, making her even more endearing. Oh, Esther! As I call her name out in my head. My heart feels pained in a moment of intense affection.

But my revelry is interrupted as the bus lady suddenly shouts. She is dressed in a blue shirt and wears protective sleeves to shield her arms from sunlight. She also has a white sweat towel around her neck to occasionally dab her brow with, a fashion statement typical of most blue-collar workers or bus conductors. I won't be surprised if that towel is a typical Good Morning brand one that's super cheap and found in most hair salons too.

I suddenly discover that Esther has dropped her name cards in the minibus. I cry out to our bus lady to stop, half shouting. The minibus jolts to a stop and I try to quickly gather up the cards to return to Esther and then rushing out of the bus and dashing across the road in my haste.

Ahead, a blind spot. I am lucky no errant vehicle is hurtling my way. I turn and shout back at the bus driver lady to wait. The bus is now parked in gravel of the road shoulder, its dirty exhaust smoke puffing away impatiently.

I feel very happy running up to Esther, like two lovers meeting again.

Esther beams as she sees me and holds out her outstretched hands to welcome me. I kiss them and give her back her name cards. We do not speak but you can tell by the gleam in our eyes that there is much affection between us. I wish then I could take her home!

====

Back in the bus and on the way again, the driver and her husband start to chat. The husband offers me a small cupcake wrapper with a tiny snack in it. The wrapper is small like those for a French magdaleine. Inside, stuck to one side, is a delicacy of ikan bilis on some hardened paste. The paste looks like Thai green-red table chilli, the sort used on fried fish especially. To eat, I am supposed to bite on the small ikan bilis and peel the thing off. It is less than bite-size but quite delicious. We eat quite a few more and continue to chat about food from the region until the journey wears thin and I reach my destination.

====

Today, I am back at the expo. I meet a lady dressed in a dark blue silk cheongsam who seems rather well-off. She is impressed by my invention, a kind of signal processor and asks me about its support components. I realise then that this is her trade and business. At the end of our conversation, she invites me back to her office.

Mdm Molly's office is in a row of five-foot way shophouses. The office front is typical of those found in 70s Singapore, i.e. bottom half corrugated aluminum siding, top half glass. Its double doors are the same. We push through one side and enter. There is another fella who is along with us. I recognise him but can't place where he is from.

In the lobby in front of us is a long table. On it are several books upon each we are all expected to signed in. Each book is of a different theme and each book comes with its own designed pen.

I stop at the nearest guest book and prepare to sign in. I remember discovering a very thin and flat pen that reminded me of Qing Dynasty costume jewelry in terms of its design and metal element used. You know, stuff made out of brass and enameled in blue, green, red and white. Cloisonné design is what it is called.


Soon we all finish signing in and climb up the stairs to the office. The wall tiling are those nail-sized tiny blue square mosaics popular in the 70s.

====

Upstairs, the place is wide and spacious and decorated in Shanghai style. There are rosewood side tables and a rice-white plump sofa embroidered with red flowers with black vines. It is altogether rather charming.

I see a young girl doing her homework and working with a piece of tracing paper.

Mdm Molly calls me over and asks if I can offer help to the maid. She appears to be having trouble emptying two pails of used tea leaves without clogging up the drainage system. I wonder why there is so much used tea leaves and start to guess what they are being used for.

After the filtrate system has been loosened and removed, we manage to flush the used leaves down the drain with ease. The maid is visibly relieved, as am I. The young girl in the center of the hall continues with her tracing homework. Mdm Molly beams a smile in my direction. She seems to like me. For some reason I cannot wait to get back to the Expo.

====

The dream ends with me riding that minibus back to the Expo in the bright sunshine of the following morning. Esther and I are looking at each other and wishing the journey would never end. And that we need not get back to Singapore anytime sooner.

The end.

On a German Mountain

I am on a tour bus going up a mountain. It is autumn with the air slightly cool outside. We alight at a small town whose houses are all of modern design circa the 1970s. They cluster together and are linked by cobbled alleyways.

I walk through one and pass by a white building whose ground floor home is adorned with wide glass panel doors that reminds me both of a Spanish hacienda home and a car garage. The walls are sandblasted and rough to the touch, a wall treatment popular with condos in Sg built in the late 80s.

Into this white building I enter. It is a home.

We are in fact in a small kitchen, an utilitarian one that is so common in UK flats from the 70s. The table is red formica and its edges are trimmed with a strip of aluminum.

We are going to have some kind of German cake with white cream.

I look out of the kitchen window. Forested ridges and valleys lay below. It is a magnificent view.

Outside, there is a commotion. I go out and discover that evening has fallen.

There seems to be a religious festival going on. Opera face masks - both large and regular size - float in the air. People are following them and wondering at their magical presence. I too wonder how they manage to float in the air without seeming to be attached to with strings or other method..

A teenager is seen marshaling the masks forward. He is doing his job and using a handphone at the same time. Typical, I mumble, and go "tsk-tsk" at his split attention.

When we reach the lookout point at the top, a giant moon in the sky greets us there. The moon is huge and covers almost the whole sky. I think Old Man Moon is smiling back at me but only fleetingly. The bright moonlight feels warm and inviting though.

In the crowd, I am with two of my former GFs. One is with her hubby; the other, well, she is her usual quiet, smiley self.

Around a corner, I find myself alone in an alley once more. In the short distance ahead, I can see a watch repair shop. Jurgen Procknow the actor is the watch repairman. He is wearing a watchmaker's magnifying monocle and leather apron. Or is that man Robert De Niro? In any case, I am thinking of a character actor.

I revisit the kitchen a couple of times. The owner couple is there as well as a much younger lady. We seem to be in a discussion over something. Perhaps the development of the mountain region or something else entirely. Not long after, I wake, feeling I've been to the highlands and watched someone carry on a traditional craft.

The end.

A Haunted House

We are in a place not too dissimilar to Cameron Highlands. Cool, scenic, ancient.

At the moment, we are in a nice wooden kampung house, the kind that comes with a corrugated zinc roof. It is painted green and I am looking through a window grilled up with square wire mesh.

Outside, folks are engaged in some sort of a commotion. It seems the transport  that is supposed to take us out of town has been delayed.

I am wondering when I can get my family (apparently I am married with two kids and a wife) safely away from this house that we are in. It is haunted and the spirits are getting more malevolent as each minute passes.

At any moment, I am expecting one of them to crawl out from under the bed or step out from the walls. What are they going to do? I have no idea. My 'kids' are scared but they are not panicking.

I sit on the narrow bed and ponder what to do next. I try to recall the spirits I have seen earlier in the other half of the house. A double door is all that separates us.

Remember, this is a wooden house commonly found in a Southeast Asian village. It is a kampung house - something traditionally found in a place like, say, Pulau Ubin, Singapore.

Earlier, when we were put into this house for temporary accommodation, I had checked the place out. It didn't take me long. The house was square and parted in the middle by that double-door.

I had gone in to check and noticed the change in air quality immediately - the proverbial "thick air" that harbors more than just atmospheric molecules. As I walked in, the air visibly resisted. I knew something wasn't quite right. It's as if there was some sort of plasma thickening; it just didn't feel right and friendly. Definitely something evil or poltergeistic in the air.

It was at that moment that the spirits started to slowly appear one by one. The first one manifested from a far window grinning as it grew larger and flew towards me. It disappeared as soon as it touched me. The other two came out from the other wall but just hovered in mid-air looking on in silence. I couldn't tell if they were just bystanding or scheming worse things to inflict upon us.

I retreated back into our bedroom and closed the door. "What the f...?" I said to myself, more alarmed than scared. It was certainly not a place to linger about for long.

Back to the present, the commotion outside rages on. A crowd has gathered, which makes our own spooky situation look kind of odd and out of dimension.

Next, I am talking to a lady and comparing notes with her as to who has seen the more hauntings. It's not exactly the right thing to be discussing now but at least it is taking my mind off worrying. In any case, it is good to know more.

This lady has actually come into the house to analyse the going-ons and concluded that the place was indeed very haunted.

So we are now stuck.

All of a sudden, things in the other side of the room starts to clang about, raising themselves up and down. A few bang against the double door, making us on the other side nervous.

I should be scared but I am not. Perhaps because they are spirits -beings with no substance- that makes it illogical for me to be unafraid of them. I would be more frightened of a big sized, rampaging serial killer.

I hold my kids to console them more out of instinct then anything else. They appear to have fallen asleep from fatigue.

The 'wife' has her legs curled up as if sheltering from a storm. When will this pass? she seems to question with those large frightened eyes of hers.

I am wondering the same as no one wishes anything paranormal to happen.

I've never met an evil spirit and would love to see one; now there are three to contend with.

Things continue to fly in the other room. The double doors occasionally being slammed at. Outside, the commotion continues.

I wake up to a knock on my window. There's a woodpecker outside. It stares at me with its ringed eye. It looks quite like that spirit in the dream. Has it come to haunt me as a flying thing? I would roast you like a pigeon, you know, and throws a pillow at it.

A Conjuring

It's been a while since I wrote up another dream. Lately they have come in bits and pieces without much significance. Or it could be that they vanish quickly from my memory come wakey time. It is difficult when you wake and find the neck stiff for no apparent reason. You try to get back to sleep hoping it would go away but then the dreams would either jitter to a stop or a short sequence of something unrelated would pop up. At times, the morning sunlight plays up and makes you dream of stuff in the sun.

So, in this next dream, I am a TCM doctor standing behind my TCM shop counter contemplating a certain illness. Which cure, which cure, I seem to ponder over and over again.

The room is quiet and uncluttered. I see myself as I would from the vantage point of a CCTV camera affixed at a corner in the ceiling. I am still (not moving), head downcast on the counter. The aisle is empty. Time seem to stand still like for an eternity and moving in some kind of time-lapsed sequence. The whole scene looks positively spooky.

My friend David pops up. He is asking when I would like to go to Taiping, his hometown. Apparently that town is quite well-known for its infestation of snakes. Would I go there to make snake wine?

In my mind I am wondering what kind of snake. Cobra? Coral?

I see David's mouth move as he talks, all in slow motion. I am not paying attention. I turn my head to the patient behind me. She is suddenly there and wanting my attention. She is about 11.

I ask her, What is the matter, love. She replies with a doleful look and silence. I look her up and down. She's shoe-less in a white nightgown that reminds be of the countless girls in evil-spirit possession-type movies (e.g. The Exorcist, Carrie, etc....) Her hair is somewhat disheveled too. Oh crap! Am I in a horror movie?

Floppy Tennis

The dream begins at a tennis game. I am a boy and playing against two other schoolboy friends. Strangely, I am not dressed in Mattar Primary School uniform but that of Boys Town English Primary. I am trying to show the boys some tennis moves. One of these is the forehand topspin. I sort of succeed, and realize that I am using an old Yonex aluminium racket, one that is light green and once owned by an elder sister. But although the game starts off well, things slowly take a surreal turn. When I try to execute an overhand lob, the racket turns soft like noodle. I kind of flop the shot through and miss contacting with the ball entirely.

We continue the game awhile, but matters do not improve. I keep missing the ball because the floppy racket.

Next, we are in a large field flying remote control planes. I see my arm doing the same floppy movement. This time, however, in my hand is a remote control. I am waving (or flopping) the control about to direct the plane, like some Wii game controller. The plane flies about in sync with my 'movement commands'. I seem elated by that and run about the field as if I'm flying a kite; the model plane flying in the sky as if connected by an invisible string to my handheld remote. In my mind, I am thinking what a marvelous invention that would be, being able to point the remote at the plane and direct its movements... Including doing a loop-de-loop.

The scene again changes, but the focus is still on a hand. This time, instead of holding something floppy, I am gripping an iron bar that's a handhold inside a robot's fist. I am punching as if it is my boxing glove. I realize I am inside a robot suit and involved in some sort of futuristic robot boxing match. I am boxing and people outside are cheering. This continues for a while and the scene fades, like that of movie ending. The dream then ends. And I am none the wiser.

Escape to Fado

In this dream, I am stuck in a semi-submerged tanker. Not a very big one but its central hold - the size of a small swimming pool - is filling up with water and the whole rusty contraption is listed to one side. I am beating the water to keep some creatures down. Not sure what but they are ferocious. I try to climb up the side ledge of the tanker even as I try to hold on and defend myself.

There are two other people with me in the tanker, each trying to survive from what's in the water.

The scene changes. Shots are being fired at a wall. They blast through leaving holes grouped rather close together. Shots fired from close range?

My family is trying to get out. For some reason, we are being pursued. We fire back.

As we retreat, I set up booby traps, the kind that employ a string, a can and a hand grenade.

We leave as the building blasts from the inside, throwing a black cloud of dust outwards and upwards through the doorway - or what used to be a doorway. The blast also throws us to the ground.

We cough, pick ourselves up and dust off. We see a gap in a fallen wooden fence and race through it.

On the other side, a pack of wolves lies waiting. I leap over and start to bash the wolves left and right. I don't feel good hitting them as I quite like wolves for their bravery and intelligence. But hey, when bark turns to bite, I rather not be the one to be bitten!

The wolves put up a fight but it is only temporary. They scatter soon enough when someone comes  running with a torch of fire. That person is rather manic, swinging his torch as if fending off unseen zombies.

I look down and am surprised to find myself and my family up a tree. We can see the shapes of wolves running away. However, a band of orcs is climbing up the side of the hill and shouting to burn us down. Wait, am I in The Hobbit movie? In a moment, Gandalf comes riding on a giant eagle and whisks us away. I know, in The Hobbit, Gandalf is also rescued by the eagles, not riding shotgun like some hero coming in as a savior.

We pass through clouds and I find myself on solid ground again. My family is not with me, only an old girlfriend. When the clouds clear, we find ourselves on a rocky shore. A lighthouse is not far in front. It appears we are back at Cabo da Roca, a remote tourist attraction (or rock outcrop) that bills itself as the furthest point west of the European continent. A few buildings surround the lighthouse. There isn't much to see except for a sign that proclaims the significance of the place. I think anybody who turns up here will take a picture with that sign. We do the same.

Afterwards a guy insists we stay to take photos for the others. After a while, we flee. The road is an isolated country road that winds down a hill. Fortunately a bus comes along and we hop on. Sometime later we arrive at a village. The streets seem too narrow for the bus but it manages to squeeze through though.

We arrive and stop at a cafe that bills itself as the place for Fado, a kind of Portuguese music. We enter and sit down for a drink of coffee. A small band plays while a lady sings.

The song appears sad but nice to listen to. It is no different from what Edith Piaf used to sing, I think. As the sun sets, we make our way out of the cafe and head to a place for grilled sardines. We could see lights and smoke and soon, someone operating a grill. My girlfriend and I smile at each other as we take a slow leisurely stroll towards where the smell of grilled fish and onions is coming from. We feel happy and content.

A Dream of Kuan

This dream I had dreamt of in parts before, especially at the beginning, where I find myself walking through a small shopping mall and coming across a makan store.

I am walking along and near the end of a corridor when I see a an local cafe selling stuff wrapped in ketupat leaves. The food packages are of various sizes including one that is quite large - not unlike a packet of nasi lemak. I ask for the price and find it expensive. I tell the macik no, I don't think so and walk on. Some items on display continue to interest me.

I walk on past some clothing stores. Eventually I come to a sofa bench and sit down. After a while I find a desktop scanner cover next to me. Where's the rest of the machine, I wonder. Then I notice a small black laptop, only that it is not. It holds a smaller game machine in its casing, like a Nintendo DSi XL. A blue and white school bag lies nearby, unattended.

Suddenly I realise that two boys are playing handheld games in front of me. They are sitting in some sort of boxed-in sofa seat, why I have not noticed them before and they, me.

I contemplate hiding their stuff to 'punish' them, but think better of it. I move away quietly. The boys do not notice, still too engrossed and noisy in their game play.

I leave the shopping centre and wait at the bus stop opposite. There I bump into my Engineering schoolmate, Kuan. He seems distracted, if not a little polar... smiling but troubling inside. I knew he went to China to work. Did it not work out?

We are about to board a bus and I ask Kuan if he likes to go for coffee instead. He agrees and we cross the road back to the shopping centre. We seem to have gotten to the blind side of the complex and there is no entrance. We help each other climb up and down a few parapets and flower beds to get onto a corridor. Eventually we walk round to the entrance.

Inside, we try to find a place to sit down for a drink. A lady calls out to me. She appears to run a cafe shop. I look round to inform Kuan. He has wandered off to another place.

I search for him but at each turn of the corner, can only catch glimpses of him. Eventually, I catch up to him and finds that we are now in his home, a large complex. An older man greets Kuan and he goes off with him.

The entrance to his home is high and reminds me of the large atrium of a corporation. I can also see that it is situated on a hill.

I can still hear Kuan but he stays out of sight; I wonder why he is being so elusive. The lady of the house, an Eurasian, invites me in for a drink.

We move upstairs to a verandah area to sit and talk and drink tea.

Beyond this, another hall, one that is made to look rustic, standing by itself like some ethnic community hall. The rest of the house has been concrete and painted in white. This new hall is made of timber and grass and stands out vividly like a prayer hall atop a hill. In the distance, the weather has changed and clouds can be seen growing and rolling. It is an amazing sight and the lady of the house comments so. By now, a gaggle of ladies have also joined us - some in their teens - for tea and  they say the same. Some are sipping tropical cocktail drinks served up by the bar from inside that timber hall.

Soon, the storm is upon us and all of us run in for cover.

Still, no sight of Kuan, although I continue to hear him speak with someone nearby.

The wind from the storm blows hard, flapping the bamboo blind around us. Rain begins to pelt. It is an awesome sight being so high and exposed.

I retreat into the big house again and stand behind a glass. I marvel at the storm now raging outside. It feels me with awe. I don't hear from Kuan and it seem not to matter anymore.

Chinatown and A Coded Bra

I am in a sort of old Chinatown made up of wooden storeyed buildings. Connecting these mishmash of houses are covered wooden walkways that are narrow, squarish and high up. Very tube-like. You would have to stoop to walk through them. And in each walkway were small square windows.

In this dream, I seem to be running away from gangsters. I am in a car and driving about. In one scene, I arrive at the courtyard of a couple of ladies. To get to them, I had to navigate through backalleys not unlike those found in the lorongs of Geylang and Sims Avenue.

The ladies have some very minute (size) digital information that the gangsters want. In my mind, I imagine them to be miniaturised computer chips. But they were not. The information was contained in their bras which had some sort of black elastic netting. When expanded a little - like pushing up from underneath with a thumb - one could see what the closed elastic band was hiding. What I saw was some paint colors of which reminded me of a painting of Vincent van Gogh.

I then catch a couple of gangsters spying from underneath a bench in the garden. I pull them out. One I keep inside a wooden box and try to squash him to death. He struggles and a leg pops out. I try to break that by twisting his ankle but it does not work. I try the same with his head but it just wouldn't snap. In the end I just sat on him and let him be. I am thinking how uncomfortable I am with the violence and all that.

With the gangsters disposed off, I take the girls by car to find their agent. Apparently he would know what to do with the information in their bras. I looked at one of the girls and admired her large breasts. My, that girl could hold a trillion bytes was what I thought! Nerd. Am I really that nerdy?

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!

Forgotten Giant Prawn

It's funny, don't you think, to remember in a dream something you have caught in another dream and forgotten all about?

I had dreamt of a lobster prawn (which looked incidentally like a giant cooked prawn all pink and whitish, see pix on left) a week ago. Today, I dreamt about opening the same bag (the side pocket of a haversack) and remembering that I had caught it sometime ago. I had forgotten all about it during all this time. I even reprimanded myself about it, and for not having fed it and if it was still alive. It was. And hungry probably, judging by the aggressive way it reacted when I opened the pouch. Who can blame the poor creature!

The reason I remember today is that I dreamt I had caught another giant prawn. This one is dead though. I was putting it in the side pouch when I discovered the another one inside. At the time, I was in a bus driving some school kids to a seaside excursion and had caught the prawn in the sea. I don't know why this one is dead and the other one alive.

So I put the dead prawn in together with the live prawn. Immediately it pulled its dead companion further inside. I was worried that it would cannibalise it. But for some strange reason, hungry as it was, it didn't.

Back home, I decided to put the live prawn in a basin to feed it properly. The basin was blue and plastic, same one as I have in my non-dream home. I then looked for a flat piece of gauze wire to cover over it. I wondered about what I should feed the prawn now crawling in my basin. Could I feed it with small prawns like I did with my dead and gone turtle? Wouldn't that be cannibalism? How about bits of sotong?

The next day, I told the kids in the bus that they could no longer swim in the sea. They did not sound too disappointed when I told them about the giant prawn. A few want to go to my place to look at it. In any case, some of the kids put their diving masks on and stuck their heads out of the moving bus. Their hair flew back as it caught the wind.

To engage them in another matter, I told them to organise themselves into groups of four. This they did, getting up in the bus and exchanging seats. I remember thinking, 'What an obedient bunch!'

An Egg-Shaped Car

Someone has invited me to shop at the village. I go there and see a popular eating place. It's crowded and I make my way in to see what the fuss was all about. It is some cold noodles the proprietor is selling. The eatery is made of bamboo and with mats as walls like some waystation tea-stand in some Ancient China.

I see movement of people and follow them along a corridor. I make a few turns and end up in a room. A group of boys are trying to clean themselves up with water. I notice they are without shoes. I ask why they are muddy and they tell me they have been playing in a river further up.

They point out of a window and I follow their directions. I find the river and understands the fun the boys had. It reminds me of a trip I've made to Malaysia once.

Other folk walk by carrying prayer incense things. There are trees all round as if in a kampong and that a temple is somewhere ahead.

I get the feeling that my female friend is coming and return to the roadside by the eatery. I see her walking down towards me from a distance. When we up we go inside and have a meal.

After our makan, we say our goodbyes and I meet my army buddy Richard. I am soon at his house. I stay over and the next thing I know, I am awake in the morning and am. getting ready to leave.

For some reason Richard is busy in his room. His dad feels it is rude and calls him to come join me.

The phone rings and Richard's father picks it up. "It's your army camp," he says.

Richard talks into the phone and gets angry. It seems the camp is not willing to let him skip a training in-camp. Profanities are exchanged. He switches off the phone and throws it on the sofa.

I get dressed to leave. I notice I am dressed in a funny way. A loose sheer blouse, a very short pair of skin-tight shorts that is made of red and yellow shiny polyester and printed with images of people from ancient China. I think the scene is a snippet from that famous Song painting of a market on a river bridge that was recently turned into a kind of animated installation artwork. This pair of shorts is so short it's like a band. Stranger still is that lacy underwear is sneaking out from behind and after some comments made by Richard's mom, I try to tuck them back in.

I look as if I am wearing transvestite fashion but I don't feel it. Even the high heels I'm wearing don't engender that feeling.

Next, I am back at the eatery and bump into Allen, a secondary schoolmate and fellow badminton team member. We sit down somewhere for coffee and to chat. Once done, we head back to his 'car' that was parked in an alley. It has an unusual shape, almost like a luge machine with cover. Allen seems proud of it and suggests we go for a drive.

We remove the top cover, which is made of unvarnished fibreglass. It has the color and texture of polished shell like those commonly used by Filipinos to make lampshades, coasters and other stuff. The rest of the car seems to be made of canvas, wood and aluminium struts. Together they give the impression that the vehicle is egg-shaped and aerodynamic.

Allen gets in, followed by me. I ease myself carefully down on the seat (it's a tight fit) and proceed to lift my leg one at a time into a small place holder. As mentioned, this vehicle is more luge machine than car. Or some leftover contraption from an energy-efficient driving contest.

I need to sneak my leg between two pieces of wood planks and I succeed. Sitting with my legs clamped around the structure, we replace the cover and set off.

To move the machine, we have to shove-chuck two thin rods that run along the top edges of the vehicle. The faster we work, the faster the vehicle went. Allen and I have to be coordinated. So we time ourselves to left-right left-right rhythm. it works. Our action is no different from holding on to two overhead bars in a bus and shoving them along. Pretty soon, we speed along at a very good pace.