I know its impossible. I cant possibly inform every one about it. My past mistakes will continue to be the very definition of me to other people. To some, I am that asshole who broke their hearts, I am that terrible friend who left them hanging, I am that guy they never went along with well. I know that I cant erase that. But I am trying my best to change it.
Its true, once the wrong things Ive done is there, I can never make it disappear. All I can do is bury it, hopefully with good deeds. Its harder if you have plenty to bury.
I am cleaning up the loose ends of my life. I am admitting my mistakes to some, and apologizing to most. I was never the perfect guy, never the perfect friend. I believe I am in below average as a nice person. I am acknowledging that now. I realized that if I keep denying things, I am not allowing myself to provide a solution to it. As much as it hurts, I am acknowledging that I wasnt as nice as I thought I was.
I know its impossible to clean the loose ends I left before I got to where I am now. I can only move forward.
So, to everyone Ive hurt before, I am sorry. That old guy is gone. I had to learn it the hard way. Trust me, Ive got my karma. I know there’s plenty more karma about to get me, I’ll gladly accept it. I want to continue learning.
I want to be the best version of myself to the few people I am yet to meet. And I want to be better for the people I value now.
I love you, my close friends, I care for all of you. Sorry if Ive done you wrong before. Thanks for sticking around. And to the new friends I have now, if you ever hear stories about me, just know that its not how I am anymore.
Ever wrote a story so good, you were afraid to end it? That if you did end it, you dont know what to do after. That’s the beauty of writing, the ability to create a temporary world you can get yourself lost into.
But sometimes, it can be a bad thing. You get lost enough, you never want to go back to your sad reality. I believe that people with very wide imaginations tend to be the saddest.
Its basically like reading a book, only you dont get to decide what happens.
I applaud writers who end their stories with a depressing tone. I find it unbearable to leave it like that, even though those are the kind of stories I would read. Maybe Im just a realist, I know that things dont end up the way we wanted it to be. I mean, no matter how happy we are, there is this inevitable ending to it, which is death, of course.
Now, dont mistake me for a pessimist. I am just simply acknowledging the fact that we really dont matter. 200 years from now, no one will remember you. We dont even know our ancestors if we dont dig in to it. Unless you are some kind of a hero who saved thousands of lives, your name will not be remembered after a long time. Our graves will be replaced with another layer of soil, and we wont even know the names of our grandest children.
It does sound like what a pessimistic person would say, now that I think of it.
I have this weird obsession of making a mark in this world. Like I kind of want to be remembered by something I did, but doesnt want the attention that comes with it. Maybe its my way of denying the fact that I matter. That Im not just an NPC on a video game. I want to matter.
I tried believing in the after life. That something is there for us after we die in this lifetime. But what is it exactly? Is it another world like this? How special can it be? I never found answers, at least not yet.
Through the stories that I make, I create a world where I am special. Like Im the god of the world I made. That makes me feel better. Sad, isnt it?
Actually, its not. I truly realized that your purpose in this life isnt what fate will give you, but rather what you want it to be.
Mine is for sure making stories that will touch someones soul. I have a dream that I will write a story will be adapted to a movie and it will win awards because of how good is it. Im not only a writer, I als want to be a film director. I know its never too late to do that, I just need to work on it, which I am.
Soon, you will know my name as that guy who wrote and directed that movie that you cant get out of your head. Like Taxi Driver, Godfather and all those legendary films that is still relevant even after a long time.
Just had this weirdly detailed dream about Bill Hader being my best friend and his Jordan 11 Win Like 96 shoe.
It was my birthday party. Its a weird start because I dont and never celebrated my birthday party with an actual party. There were a lot of people partying in my room, and Bill Hader was there, sitting in my matress, just being an introvert who looks like he was forced to socialize with the people around him.
After a while, he told me he wanted to go home. But on the way out, he stepped on a gum. He was visually upset as he took off his Jordan 11 Win Like 96 shoe and removed the gum. Its another weird thing because in my usual dreams, it isnt this detailed. And even if it is, I would have trouble remembering the details when I wake up.
I didnt want him to go because I wanted to hang out with him. So outside, I talked to him and I said to stay for me because it was my birthday. I managed to stop him. He told me to not torture him with that excuse, but I know he was only kidding. Bill’s a funny guy, he really is.
So he asked me, what do I want to do. I said I’ll just let the party finish. He stayed. Bill is a good friend.
I then told him that I have this friend that is a big fan of his, or only a fan, and I would love to send my friend a photo of us just to brag. He didnt even think, he just took my phone, snapped a photo and sent it to my friend via WhatsApp.
My friend sent me a very unenthusiastic text message.
Night came and Bill was getting bored and impatient. He told me he was going somewhere. I stopped him again by saying it was my birthday. It worked again. Bill wanted to go, but was also going to feel guilty if he did, because it was my birthday and I wanted to hang out with him.
He told me to get in his car, which I am sure is the new Tesla truck. The polygon shaped one. I swear it was that truck. That’s how weirdly specific my dream was.
Before hopping in, I called another friend of mine to come with us. She was my colleague. So I asked my manager if she can go, and he approved of it.
As we went to Bill’s car, I woke up. The dream was still fresh.
As I wake up, I realized two sad reality:
1. I wasnt really close friends with Bill Hader.
2. I wasnt really close friends with the friend I sent the photo of me and Bill anymore.
This is why I hate dreams that are too good to be true. I wake up feeling empty.
Im not talking about suicide. Suicide requires you to be alive, that someone conceived you. People know who you are. You have friends. You made a mark on some people. You have a birth certificate. You went to school. You learned new things. You appear on photos both physical and digital. Someone loves you. Someone cares for you. Suicide is selfish. You are leaving all these things because you cant handle it anymore. Its controversial, I know. I really know it is, because I tried to do it before.
Im not saying these things for sympathy. I hate when people feel sympathy on me. I cannot stress how I hate it. I feel so small when I know that I am being pitied upon. One more time, I hate it.
After my attempt at ending my life I was living, I contemplated. What is my goal when I want to kill myself? To disappear from my problems, my stress, my depression. Its like escaping from a prison. I may manage to escape it, but I will always be pursuited to be brought back there.
I started to hate the thought of suicide, because I thought about the people I will leave behind. I am loved by many people, and I hate to make them feel bad because of my actions. I dont like it when people feel sad because of me. I always want to make things right. And if I did decide to kill myself, I would make my mom, my dad, my little brother and sister, my grandma and grandpa, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my friends from college, high school, old workmates, and the strangers I managed to become friends with throughout the years Ive lived. I dont like them getting sad because of me. The worst part about killing myself is I wouldnt be able to redeem myself.
So, I started to think. I dont really like to commit suicide. I just want to disappear. Like I was never really here. But I cant do that. But I love the idea of it.
The idea of my parents not having me, and not having to worry about me, and simply not knowing me as me. I never would stress about my future and the obstacles it comes along with. I would not be missed if I disappear, because I was never really here. I love that idea. Ive been vocal about this to some special people I met, but I really wouldnt mind just being aborted when I was still in my mom’s womb. I really wont. But we dont get to choose that, dont we?
I wish other semen was faster than me to get to the egg. Im joking but I mean it.
And since I know that wont ever happen, I just learned to accept the fact that Im here. I exist. Better to just make the most out of it, rather than complain.
I never ran out of problems. Im too smart for my own good. Im too smart, I find problems on things that are perfectly fine. I do that. I overthink until I get sad. It sucks. Its a gift I didnt wish I received.
I cant exactly just stop thinking. Its like I decided I stop being me. I cant.
So I learned to control it. I learned to breathe. I learned to ease back on overthinking things. Life isnt a math problem where I need to find the absolute final answer. There is no final answer. I mean, if we die all of a sudden due to an accident, that’s it. No one is smart enough to calculate that. No genius can exactly say when am I estimated to die. I know people who drink and smoke and do drugs outlive people whose only purpose on waking up is to work out. Its true. He was jogging when someone suddenly hit him with a car. I dont know this person personally, we dont even live in the same country, but that doesnt change the fact that a drunken driver killed a healthy man.
I started to value my life. Because I might be having the best time, and I dont want my life to end by then, then suddenly a comet crash into me, ending my existence.
So when Im down, I just think it’ll get better and Id love life by then. Im just waiting for those moments. Because its not a single moment. Happiness is bits of moments. You cant be happy ever after. If youre happy now, it will pass, then you’ll have another down time, but after that, you will have another happy time. Its a cycle. Life isnt like the movies, where happy endings are eternal, unless theres a sequel of course.
I am speaking as a guy who went through depression, and tried to kill himself, then decided to demote my depression to just brief sadness, and after that brief period comes another brief period of happiness. Its the fun part of life, those bits of moments.
If you are suffering from depression, please, if you encounter your brief moment of joy, please enjoy it. Live in the moment. Dont ever think that when you suddenly became positive comes that impending moment of sadness again. As a matter of fact, turn it around. Think that after your current sadness, comes that inevitable moment of happiness, even if it is very brief, it still came, and it will continue to come, and there’s nothing thats going to stop it.
Hang in there, bro or sis! There’s always that brief moment of joy and happiness, and when it comes, enjoy it.
I just finished writing the first chapter of my first story coming out of retirement. Not that I’m missed, but in my head, its a big deal.
Its on Wattpad (I know, out of all the places I could publish it, why there). Its not a bad platform actually, if it wasnt filled with teenage girls wanting vampires and werewolves, and robots, and oversadistic billionaires have a foursome with no strings attached, but they soon find out they all want each other forever. Not a bad plot, though. That’s something I’d read.
It felt great writing again. With my busy schedule of work, come home, play Madden, I have troubles squeezing in writing. I know my priorities, and yes, video games are part of that.
But whenever I write (I actually type, not on my laptop, on my phone), I feel the sense of happiness I lost when I was growing up. I remembered how happy I am when I get lost into writing, when Im building my own world and having the ability to control my fate. Its sad at the same time, but at least I have that outlet.
I often weep about how sad my life is, but i really isnt. At least not compared to others. I just like to think it is. Keeps me inspired, and interesting.
Although I admit, I wish I was living in my stories rather than my actual life, because everything there is better. It sometimes get hard, but being the author of my own life, I know I will eventually make it easier for me.
But that being said, I always lean on depressing endings. Im tired of reading stories with happy endings. Not that Im bitter about it, its just cliche. I love thinking about how depressing I can end my story. I blame it on that Inception ending. Its an ending which has open interpretations, I know. And you can interpret it as a positive ending, but I always interpret it as negatively as I can. I still think he is still stuck in his own dream, and he didnt really get home to his kids. Its more interesting to me if he was still dreaming.
With the story I am writing now, I want it to end positively. But Im tempted as hell to end it where everyone just dies. No reason, no cause, everyone just dies. Like that ending of Buried which starred Ryan Reynolds. He died. Spoiler.
Anyway, for those interested. I’ll give the link to my story. Its still a work in progress, but chapter 1 is up. I am basically talking to myself in this blog so might as well double down on my delusion. Ha!
Admit it or not, complaining feels good. There’s something about it that makes you feel like you achieved something. When one thing doesnt go the way you want it to be, you complain. Even when everything went the way you want it to be, but there was something you didnt like in between of it, you’ll complain about that one thing rather than enjoying the outcome.
Its basic human nature. I complain a lot, not going to deny that. But since I became conscious about that part of me, I became aware of the people around that does the same thing. It became unattractive to me. And with that realization, I started to hate myself for being like it.
Life has improved for me for the last couple of years. Im thankful for it. I appreciate myself for it, because I worked for it. I stepped out of every possible comfort zone I have and made new ones. I should always think about where I am now compare to where I was, and how I was 2 years ago. I shouldnt complain, right?
That’s how I want to be this upcoming year. Its a cliche, I know, but it makes sense once you really feel the essence of it. I thought I know everything before even before I experience first hand, because I thought I was smart and wise. The audacity of me to give advice about situations I dont have first hand experience to. It is true, and it cant be any truer; you learn something new everyday.
Dont take it as a new year’s resolution, but more of a change of heart: I will not complain, as much as possible, anymore this coming 2020. You should do the same too. The less we complain, the more we tend to understand. And when every one understands each other, the more friendlier we get.
Its a recipe for disaster. It doesnt matter if its with friends, family, significant other, anyone. People grow, that is human nature.
As people grow, their desire grow also. It took a while for me to figure that out, but Im glad I did.
I used to easily get attached to people, even the wrong ones, because of the experiences we share and the memories that go along with it. My problem was that I am too sentimental for my own good. I have difficulties letting go of things, even those with little to no value. I cling to memories more than the person I shared the experience it to.
I knew I cant go on like that anymore. I had two whole decades and more to realize that.
I decided to at least try to change that part of me. Although Im afraid because I think thats what made people like me. I dont like it people dont like me. Not everyone I meet would like me. I know because Im like that.
From now on, I would want to be friends with someone because I like who they are, not because of things we both like, or the amount of time we know each other. I dont want to talk about someone because of the time we did this, did that, went here or there. I want to talk about that friend for who they are. How they could make me smile, laugh, feel things. I want to be friends with someone who makes me a much happier person when Im with them, or when I talk to them.
At the same time, if I no longer like that person, I would immediately cut ties with them.
I have been with toxic people before and as bad as they can be, I cant seem to let go of them. No matter how miserable I felt whenever Im with them, I still go with them. Before, I didnt know why, but now that I know, I would do something about it.
I got too attached to memories, if costs me my liberty.
Right now, I am away from my friends. I made new friends, and even they are far away from me. I also managed to gain back a friend I lost before. I miss them. I never knew Id miss them. Even the ones I never met before personally.
I have a friend here, which I consider a brother. He makes me happy when Im with him. We have plenty of memories together, but I dont cling it to it. I am always looking forward when we decide to see each other. We have deep talks when we do. We could stay in his car, fully sober and talk about the deepest things we could talk about. I trust him about things, and he does too. I love him, in a non – romantic way.
Its already 2020 and this is probably the decade where Im expected to have plans to settle down. Fixing myself one step at a time is my approach. I dont want to settle down with someone when I still havent figured myself out already, because I dont want that person to be miserable. I want to be the best that I can be for that person and for myself as well.
I want to feel attached to someone again. I want my name synonymous to hers, and that’s alright. But I want to be properly attached with her, no just because I feel like I need her, but because I truly want to be with her; the person and not a memory of her.
“One dog goes one way and the other goes the other” -a quote from Goodfellas which perfectly describes this badass alternate poster
I just finished watching the Irishman for probably the 4th time this week now.
Some have been saying they had to watch the film on 2 or 3 viewings before they could finish the it. And I honestly couldnt blame them. The film was 3 and a half hours long.
I get that there is hype surrounding the movie which led people to watch it out of curiosity. I love that it got its hype because it surely deserved it.
I knew people are going to complain that it was too long, or the movie played out some scenes which could have been trimmed, and it surely pisses me off. A true fan of Scorsese would watch the film and think, ‘that was too short’.
That’s why I dont urge people to see it. I want them to see it because the plot intrigues them, not because of the high praises it gets from critics and avid fans of the genre. You wouldnt enjoy the Irishman if you only want to see it because of the hype. Might as well waste 3 and a half hours of your life doing some other thing.
Anyway, what I really want to talk about the film is the genius of building the world, which Scorsese is too good at doing. Probably the best, in my opinion.
I have read the book, and the reason I have read it is only because of the film. I wouldnt know about the book if it wasnt for the film. And let me tell you, it was one hell of a book.
This was an almost accurate depiction of the book. If you want a more detailed story, read the source material. It applies to all, I guess.
The world I entered in the book perfectly translated into the film, which is why I enjoyed it more. The film didnt include Frank Sheeran’s younger stories about his childhood, or his much more detailed war story. The film focused on the three main characters: Frank Sheeran, Jimmy Hoffa and Russel Buffalino.
When I saw De Niro and Pesci was in this with Scorsese, I was sold already. Pacino was a very huge incentive.
The three legends was nothing short of spectacular in this film. I cant say this guy did better, because they all did a marvelous job portraying their characters.
De Niro played the guy torned between two close friends of him to perfection.
Pesci played the silent mob boss, quite the opposite to the roles we got accustomed to him playing in Goodfellas and Casino, but he surely gave me the same intimidation nonetheless.
Pacino played the charismatic and eccentric leader fueled by revenge from the people that wronged him, but at the same time being able to be the nicest and most caring friend.
I couldnt ask for more. I havent even included Keitel, Romano, Cannavale, Graham and Paquin. All of them became the characters they were playing.
They all perfectly synced up on the world Scorsese envisioned. Its a slower paced film compared to Goodfellas and Casino, but this, in my opinion, is the best story told among the three.
We are given an immersed view of the relationship of the main characters, and how powerful they truly were back then. That was one of the good things about the movie. It was necessary. None of the scenes in the movie felt dragged to me. It effectively build up the tension and the value of the story.
Another thing I liked about it is Paquin’s character. There has been controversies over the lack of dialogue her character was given, but not everyone is looking at how well she gave us inaudible dialogues through her actions. She didnt have to say a word to let us know how much she despises her father. And I loved it.
I was waiting for them to talk, probably sort things out before Sheeran’s inevitable death, but they didnt. She wouldnt. And that made Sheeran’s death even more sadder. He entered a life where he had to choose, and the choices he made ended up making him a lonely old man waiting for his death.
Paquin couldnt have done it any better. Bravo.
I personally adored Romano for a while now. There is something about him that is easily likeable. So, no matter how he acted in this film, I could forgive it. But I never expected him to be able to hold up his own against the legends he was working with. I felt that he had the most lines after the De Niro, Pesci and Pacino, and it all felt perfectly delivered. Well done, Ray Romano. You have outdone yourself once again.
Also, Cannavale and Graham, with their little time on the film, gave me the best performance I saw them play. I agree, the two should have had more screen time, but having read the source material, they were given the right amount of time. Its me wishful thinking, but I am looking forward to seeing both of them back on a Scorsese film in the future.
The film concluded on Hoffa’s death. The minutes before his inevitable death was the hardest and most painful moments of the film. De Niro’s Frank Sheeran gave me the chills when he refused to believe his good, almost best friend Jimmy Hoffa was to be put down, and hearing it from, also his good friend, almost a father figure Russel Buffalino. Those scenes were tense, and they couldnt have achieved it if they didnt progress the story the way they have. Those final Hoffa scenes justified the runtime of the film. Everything was necessary.
To summarize, the film is one of the best films I have ever seen. I will continue watching it from time to time and still feel as if I am watching it the first time.
I hope that someday, we get another director with the same vision and drive as Martin Scorsese.
An acting presence of Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci and Al Pacino comes once in a lifetime, but I sure hope to God we get another set of these kind of actors.
Gansgter and mob films are a dying breed of films. I hope it doesnt stay that way. I hope the audience’s attention span is not limited to high budgeted CGI films.
This is probably the last film we will get to see from Scorsese, De Niro, Pesci and Pacino, but I sure do pray to every God there is that we get another group of guys that would continue their legacy.
I never realized how much I write before. Until now.
I saw some of my works before. I did a couple or more for my own aspiring film making group, which my college friends and I made before. I rediscovered it just now, and I only expected flawed sentences and poor story telling, but no. I didnt expect the writing I did back then to be THAT good.
Then I started thinking, how many did I write? I can remember some of the plot of the stories which was dear to me, like the one I made on my first year as a college student. Basically, it was a doomsday story and a dozen of survivors managed to live on a high tech bunker as poisonous gas from nuclear attacks from an unknown source spread throughout the whole country.
I mean, just coming up with that is crazy imaginative. Im not patting myself on the back, but the young me really had quite an imagination.
I also remember one where it centered on a town in Pennsylvania called Centralia. If you do a quick Google search about Centralia, Pennsylvania, you’ll find out that it was a town above a coal mine, and the coal mine is still on fire years after it set ablaze. The plot I made is about a small group of misfits who were running away from the authorities, lived there as they waited for the heat on them to cool down. Coincidentaly, a zombie outbreak happened every where in the states EXCEPT, of course, Centralia, Pennsylvania, because no one could or would live there because of the fire below the ground. So, the misfits just happened to be living in an unhabitable place before the zombie outbreak, which later became the most habitable after the zombie outbreak.
Isnt that creative? Tell me that isnt creative? I was probably 13 or 15 years old back then, I am too lazy to count. I used to stay up all night because I really enjoyed writing it. I didnt type it on a laptop, I legit wrote it on a notebook, and I know where those notebooks are. Its in my home in the Philippines, in a blue plastic box.
I used to write a lot of fiction back then. Realistic fiction is what I like to categorize it, because I want it to be as close to reality as it can be. If there was no iPhone during the time I am writing a story, there would be no iPhones on it. If MySpace was still the go – to social media website, I will use MySpace in my story, not any other before, or after. I never liked the idea of writing on a previous generation setting. I write my stories based on what was happening during the time I am writing it. So, no futuristic stuff, nor medieval things in my story. If I made a zombie centered story, there would be no advance warfare weapons.
My point about all this is, I envy my young self. If I can do that scene in Interstellar where he entered a place where he can go to a specific place on a specific time, I would want to go back to see my younger self writing the stories I wrote. I want to see my young and enthusiastic writer self, and get some inspiration from him.
I miss writing is what Im also trying to say. I know why I stopped, too.
I stopped because I found the first love of my life. When she came, the fictional love story I write in my stories are not fictional anymore. I am driven with romantic gestures as I write before. All my stories are mostly centered, if not entirely, to the main character driven with his love to his damsel in distress. I always imagined myself as the main character.
So, when I had my first girlfriend, I stopped. Because I thought I didnt have to imagine what its like to feel in love and translate it into words that make up the stories I make. I actually can do it to someone real.
It might sound great and triumphant. The writer who makes up love stories for himself with his make believe character, now has a real shot at love. But now, I find it sad. Not because of my first girlfriend, but because I stopped imagining and started to see reality.
Only now, literally, that I realized I miss imagining. I miss creatively writing about something. I miss my main characters will to get the girl. Not that I am a romantic person, in fact, I hate the idea of talking about romance and love. I just miss my imagination.
Imagination dies as you grow old, because it is replaced with experience.
I still think about stories now. In fact, the reason I started this page is because I wrote a short story which I am finishing up. But that story is based on my experience. Sure, I put in some details to it that didn’t actually happen, but it still is based on a real personal experience.
I am inspired by my younger self. I may seem to praise myself a lot, but I really am impressed with my younger self. Its not that I wish I hadn’t met the first love of my life so I didn’t stop writing. I actually am grateful for the heartbreak she gave me, because it shaped the man I am today, and I love the man I am today.
I just wish I knew before to give time to my passion of writing. I wish I never stopped writing. Now, Im inspired.
If anyone is actually reading this, I want to say to continue doing what you enjoy doing. I dont want to say love, because you will only feel that you love doing something if you’ve done it consistently for a long time. Keep doing what you enjoy, no matter what or who comes into your life, keep doing it. Even if it gives you nothing tangible in return. The most important thing you will want is the feeling of joy and happiness, no matter how stressful is the process, you will constantly seek for something that gives you joy. Mine was writing. I may have troubles formulating a story to keep it moving, but that was the joy of the process.
When you are doing something you enjoy, its the best self care you can do.
So, to my younger self, thank you. I lost sight of you, I may have even forgotten you. I may have forgotten the isolated nights we had as we write our fictional stories, but now I remember that. I loved myself during those times of isolation, because I had my imagination. My imagination was way better than my reality. It surely is much better than where I am now.
I have this recurring dream of me being able to float. It’s not flying at all, because I dont feel any control of my directions. I just float.
Another weird thing about it is I am always at the same place; in front of my home. And I’m always being chased by someone, and the only way to get away from him (always a man) is to float myself away.
There is a big mango tree a few meters away from my home. I always go there for leverage, as my only way of navigating is to push or pull myself towards something. Kinda like an astronaut drifting in space.
I always wanted to fly. If reincarnation is real, I’d love to become an eagle. Not just any kind of bird, but an eagle who could fly fast and soar high. Birds also are not the brightest species out there, that’s also one thing I love about birds. I dont want to think about a lot of things anymore. I dont want to stay up all night thinking about things I have no control of, or things I shouldnt even be worrying about. I just want to fly.
Every time this recurring dream of mine happen, I always try to escape from that someone who I assume would do bad things to me when he catches me. My heart is always racing whenever I dream about this.
But they never catch me. I always manage to keep a safe distance. And I only hover around my home. I never tried to go far. I dont have full control of my dream. If I did, I would try to go as far as I can go. But whenever I did try, I always come back. Maybe because, unconsciously, I’m afraid that I might not be able to come back. I’m afraid I would drift away, so far I wouldnt be able to come back to my home. I’m afraid that there wouldnt be a big mango tree I could use to push or pull myself as a form of navigation of my floating.
I had always wanted to fly, but afraid to fly far away.
Whenever I have this dream, it always is in the same weather. Its always on a lazy afternoon, close to night, probably between four and six o’clock pm. The sky is covered by white-gray clouds that doesnt have enough capacity to make it rain, but made the surrounding dark anyway.
I had never have this dream on a clear morning, or peaceful starry night. It was always in the middle of it. Not bad, not good weather either.
My family also see me fly or float away. And they always root for me to escape from the man who is always chasing me. Like a game. They are always joyful. I’m being chased around by a goon, and they are cheering for me as I try to escape.
When the man gives up chasing after me, I always try to go as high as I can. I know I wouldnt fall down. I know gravity wont come back to me. That’s the best part of that dream.
When I’m at my highest, I always look down. I’m always happy when I’m up there, just hovering in the air, not worried that I might fall down.
I always thought I’m afraid of heights. I wasnt. It turns out I’m afraid of falling down. Like, youre not really afraid of flying on a plane, youre afraid of it crashing.
I dont know why this dream always occurs. I have it every once in a while. I always feel a bit good whenever I wake up from it. Its always that dream I can remember when I wake up.
I am aware of the symbolism this dream have. I know that I’m trying to drift away from the man, who represents my problems or any negative things in my life, who tries to pull me down. I also like to think that I’m gifted the ability of flight to represent that I can soar high above the negativities on my life.
I also know that my family cheers for me because they support of me, and they have my back, always. They may not say it that much, but I know it.
I’m a big fan of dreams and the logic and science behind it. Its amazing how your thoughts on things, both conscious and unconscious, translates to dreams. Dreams can make or break my day, that’s how big of an impact dreams have on me.
So, as much as possible, I try to interpret it positively.
highest in the room 