Kitty miss bloggie 3 - I’m laughing now, and I don’t know why.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

I’m laughing now, and I don’t know why.

We had 20 minutes off the end of CE; Madz and I went to the library. I checked out the June issue of Brio that I never opened before because a band named Hawk Nelson on the cover doesn’t catch my fancy. It was a surprisingly good issue.

I read this amazing piece on how we keep God out of lives, telling ourselves our hearts are too messy for Him to be in. It was almost life-changing, and that’s for another post. Somewhere in the middle of it, I read about her (the writer) having a kid when she was 14, but giving up the baby for adoption.

I asked Madz what she would do if, regardless if it was possible or how it could happen, she had a baby, would she give it up by the reasons that people give away their babies to adoption for, you know, like having hopes and dreams and wanting to study and being busy that they couldn’t take the time to take care of their babies, that crap. She said she wouldn’t, said so and explained it as indignantly as I would have.

I was bothered, at the same time touched, by a memory that was so sweetly painful.

For the record, before I start my story, I was never through teen pregnancy. I have never even had a boyfriend. LOL. And I told this story to Madz, and a couple other people, too, all through the day. Wait, there’s her, Melaika, Loui, Elle, John, Danson, and I think Patrick and Janssen heard it too.

I don’t remember how these series of events were played out, and I’ll just tell the story so that you can easily understand.

I had a dream some nights ago. It was a long dream. I was the way I am now, sixteen, a senior. In my dream, I lived in our old house in Laguna, however, but I still went to Davao Christian, though that part is vague—actually, guesswork supported by some opaque piece of memory--maybe because something else mattered too much.

I had a child out of teen pregnancy. It was a baby boy. Bizarrely, his dad took care of him, and he lives with him. Regularly, almost everyday, they come visit me and we spend time together, usually after my classes. One of the most clear frames from my dream stuck to my mind was one where we went to an theme park. We did that kind of stuff.

My “husband” was a tall, kind of stocky guy. He, but I’m not sure, but maybe at least his hair, looks like the lecturer we had at chapel hour a few weeks ago who spoke against premarital sex (I just realized that now. What a connection. The teen pregnancy, the lecture…) and was really cool, but I’m sure it was not him, pero siya na yung pinakahawig nung “husband” ko sa lahat ng kilala ko. I say “husband”, quote and quote, because it is not very likely that we were married. I think he’s older than me. I believe he’s the strong opinionated type, because one time in my dream I made them wait for me before going out somewhere, and he was kind of pissed, but not a bad temper, no. We did not disagree, but I don’t remember being sweet with him. I wish I found out whether or not we were. Heck, I wish we were. Judging, he must be older than me. This is the best biodata of him that I can construct from what I remember: everything was blurry, and everything is starting to fade and slip away all the time, like it always is with dreams. If it helps, that time he got pissed at me he was wearing an orange shirt. He was probably in cargo shorts. It was dusk that time.

All I remember about my baby boy is him being in swaddling clothes, and being absolutely very precious to me, to everyone I knew.

I don’t remember what I was doing in my dream when I woke up, but I felt kind of empty and stared off for a while, just sitting on my bed.

Remembering my dream today, sharing it with other people, I figure out that realizing they were just a dream made me sad, because that despite the fact that they do not exist, I had fallen head over heels in love with them, both of them, with all of my heart, and that I miss them terribly that it hurts to remember. That was what I meant by sweet and painful. A memory of a dream. It’s strange.

I’m happy and sad whenever I remember them, which is almost all the time since I first did. I’m sad because I miss them, not because I wish I have a family right now, as a teenager (that’s just freaky), but because they were my family. How could I not love them, then not miss them when they were gone? And I’m happy I met them, even if in a world that isn’t real, and that they aren’t real. Though I sort of don’t need to right now, I learned how much I would love my family when I have one, and how much of my world contained them. How, as a mother and “wife”, important they are, and how they belong to me and I belong to them. Kind of, parang taste-test lang. The real thing has to be more wonderful. Yeah, I thank God for meeting my “family”. I know that it has changed and touched me in some way that makes me happier and my heart fuller.

In a way, I wonder…if I was separated from them the way they were from me? Will they ever miss me? Is there a need for me to worry about how they would be without me? Or were they really just a wisp of reality that can never quite be?* –SIGH- My angels. I can’t believe I learned to love in a dream, and learned to love a dream after waking up even so far after.

Good night, my angels. Sweetest dreams and biggest of loves to you. And you.

*Rereading now. How cheesy, but how exact that catches the thought. Yeah, the sentence that uses wisp, reality and quite. Gross, right?

**I do not sound like my 16 year-old, childish, girly senior student-self here. I sound like some other self that sounds so much like my mother. I’m laughing now, and I don’t know why.