Vihaan Week 1 - Fever Dream
Yesterday, on August the 24th, I had a bad day. I felt the weight of loneliness and being unseen, because I felt that nobody understood me as well as I wanted them to. However, something very interesting happened to me that night.
When I close my eyes at night, at first, there’s nothing. All I can sense is the soft hum of the air conditioning, the satisfying yet foreshadowing scent of pen ink and textbook pages, and the feel of my retainers forcing my teeth to go back into their original position.
Then, completely naturally, all of it fades away as sleep starts to crawl in. In most people’s dreams, you would see the most utterly random things. One of which could be a donut with a lasso riding a unicycle trying to chase you down because you took a bite out of its friend. In the land of dreams, nothing is bound by the chains of reality.
That night, I was lying in bed, that familiar feeling of relaxation settled in around me. I didn’t see any nonsense that a regular dream would have. I saw a hall adorned with snapshots, little paintings that captured moments. The hall was ethereal, with a candescent glow that softened the tones of everything it touched.
Some of the things I saw that night I hadn’t seen in years, but I still at least vaguely remembered them as their significance came rushing back to me in that instant. I saw my favorite toy as a baby, a little shaker with balls in it; I saw a stuffed dog, whose name was Memphis, that I slept with until age ten; I saw my first badminton racket that costed $20 that was shipped all the way from India; I even saw a memory of the first time I ever took a guitar lesson.
I kept walking along the corridor, with no end in sight. As I continued my trek, I saw myself in middle school, struggling to make friends because I had the most god awful style you’ve probably ever seen. I saw those same people, somehow, form incredible friendships with me that I can’t imagine living without now. I saw countless things that I cannot, and will not, describe to you for the sake of time.
In the span of those eight hours, I saw my struggles, my achievements, my relationships with other people, my hopes for the future, but mainly, I saw who I was. This peculiar event wasn’t something that completely changed my perspective on life, or something dramatic like that. Instead, it simply revealed to me the things that make me who I am today, good and bad, in a time when most people find themselves losing their authenticity.
The dream I had isn’t the important takeaway here. What’s important is that your identity, as exemplified by my dream, isn’t what you project outward to other people. It is quite literally the opposite; it’s what others cannot take away from you.
When I close my eyes at night, at first, there’s nothing. All I can sense is the soft hum of the air conditioning, the satisfying yet foreshadowing scent of pen ink and textbook pages, and the feel of my retainers forcing my teeth to go back into their original position.
Then, completely naturally, all of it fades away as sleep starts to crawl in. In most people’s dreams, you would see the most utterly random things. One of which could be a donut with a lasso riding a unicycle trying to chase you down because you took a bite out of its friend. In the land of dreams, nothing is bound by the chains of reality.
That night, I was lying in bed, that familiar feeling of relaxation settled in around me. I didn’t see any nonsense that a regular dream would have. I saw a hall adorned with snapshots, little paintings that captured moments. The hall was ethereal, with a candescent glow that softened the tones of everything it touched.
Some of the things I saw that night I hadn’t seen in years, but I still at least vaguely remembered them as their significance came rushing back to me in that instant. I saw my favorite toy as a baby, a little shaker with balls in it; I saw a stuffed dog, whose name was Memphis, that I slept with until age ten; I saw my first badminton racket that costed $20 that was shipped all the way from India; I even saw a memory of the first time I ever took a guitar lesson.
I kept walking along the corridor, with no end in sight. As I continued my trek, I saw myself in middle school, struggling to make friends because I had the most god awful style you’ve probably ever seen. I saw those same people, somehow, form incredible friendships with me that I can’t imagine living without now. I saw countless things that I cannot, and will not, describe to you for the sake of time.
In the span of those eight hours, I saw my struggles, my achievements, my relationships with other people, my hopes for the future, but mainly, I saw who I was. This peculiar event wasn’t something that completely changed my perspective on life, or something dramatic like that. Instead, it simply revealed to me the things that make me who I am today, good and bad, in a time when most people find themselves losing their authenticity.
The dream I had isn’t the important takeaway here. What’s important is that your identity, as exemplified by my dream, isn’t what you project outward to other people. It is quite literally the opposite; it’s what others cannot take away from you.
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