Monday, February 19, 2007
Free World
We snuck out of the huddled crowd at the airport, dodging the military soldiers. The little boy and I were against the current, and bus-loads of people arrived to the airport, all with nervous looks on their faces. They looked famished, weather-beaten, and most of all, terrified.
Hot, sweaty, and dirty, we crouched in the alley-way and ran through a sugar cane field towards the mansion. We leave most of our belongings next to an abandoned row of bicycles and mopeds. I leave behind the dirty napsack with my worldly possessions and white Nike sneakers, which are too obvious for our secretive mission.
Unlike the dingy straw huts along the fields, the palace was gated and made of marble -- out of place in the provincial scenery. The white marble felt cool on our bare feet as we pitter-pattered down the hallway.
We could hear the guards approaching, clicking their heels in sync and proudly displaying their rifles on their shoulders -- a weapon they would not think twice on firing if they wanted to unleash it on a civilian. In fright, we hide in a room. A dark bedroom chamber with silk sheets and a portrait of the leader - nay, the dictator - at the head of the bed. We hid under the sheets in futile attempt to deceive the guards. The door opens, but the guards squabble and commands are exchanged. We sigh in relief.
The little boy was trying to get something important out of the palace -- I forget what. But we somehow return to where we left our belongings. My sneakers are gone. We collect nerves and continue our journey back to the airport, where all the other refugees are. We cannot miss that flight, for it may be the last.
We could see the buses and the crowds 100m away. But that's when the guards pull us by the collar, and we are suddenly caught...
... And that's when I woke up -- back in the free world. But the dream lingers vividly in my senses. I could smell the incense in the palace, the fresh blades of grass, sweat, and burning cow-dung in the distance. The dirt roads beneath my bare feet, the percipitation filling my lungs, and the sun burning flesh. It could have been Pyonyang or Rangoon, I don't know. But while I was there, I knew I wasn't free.
Hot, sweaty, and dirty, we crouched in the alley-way and ran through a sugar cane field towards the mansion. We leave most of our belongings next to an abandoned row of bicycles and mopeds. I leave behind the dirty napsack with my worldly possessions and white Nike sneakers, which are too obvious for our secretive mission.
Unlike the dingy straw huts along the fields, the palace was gated and made of marble -- out of place in the provincial scenery. The white marble felt cool on our bare feet as we pitter-pattered down the hallway.
We could hear the guards approaching, clicking their heels in sync and proudly displaying their rifles on their shoulders -- a weapon they would not think twice on firing if they wanted to unleash it on a civilian. In fright, we hide in a room. A dark bedroom chamber with silk sheets and a portrait of the leader - nay, the dictator - at the head of the bed. We hid under the sheets in futile attempt to deceive the guards. The door opens, but the guards squabble and commands are exchanged. We sigh in relief.
The little boy was trying to get something important out of the palace -- I forget what. But we somehow return to where we left our belongings. My sneakers are gone. We collect nerves and continue our journey back to the airport, where all the other refugees are. We cannot miss that flight, for it may be the last.
We could see the buses and the crowds 100m away. But that's when the guards pull us by the collar, and we are suddenly caught...
... And that's when I woke up -- back in the free world. But the dream lingers vividly in my senses. I could smell the incense in the palace, the fresh blades of grass, sweat, and burning cow-dung in the distance. The dirt roads beneath my bare feet, the percipitation filling my lungs, and the sun burning flesh. It could have been Pyonyang or Rangoon, I don't know. But while I was there, I knew I wasn't free.
Labels: Dream
