I’m probably going to write another journal later in the day. This journal is simply going to be about two parts of a dream that I had yesterday night (or rather, this morning, as it was the last thing I dreamed about before I woke up.) It’s pretty wacky and it kind of doesn’t make any sense a lot of times, but bear with me here. I have the craziest dreams sometimes and I just love to write them down. So here goes:
I was a German-English-Korean-Mandarin translator for a trio of boys from a Korean pop group. (Don’t even ask why I dreamed about being fluent in Korean.) You know, the boys that have carefully styled messy hair with bangs and really pale feminine faces, that normally come in packs of five or six and sing songs that all sound similar–that kind of group. Anyway, I was their translator/nanny/tour guide (we were somewhere in China) and I was responsible for nearly everything that happened or didn’t happen to them (and their dogs–each of them had one Golden Retriever puppy). We were somehow staying in this kind of isolated forest that looked a bit like a tourist park, and we were basically stranded there in a tiny hotel for some reason. I was freaking out because, after all, I was supposed to be the responsible nanny who took care of everything. I kept trying to get someone to drive us out of there, but there was no one. Then we spotted this blue, kind of battered-looking taxi, and I kind of begged the driver to please take us out of this place. He agreed but only if I shelled out $50 (in case you didn’t notice, that sign is DOLLARS and not RMB) for each dog, in addition to the carfare that would take us out of the damn forest. Because I was losing my cool, I agreed. The pop group sat back down in the back of the taxi, and I sat in the passenger seat with the three big, gallumphing and also conveniently wet and kind of muddy puppies on my lap, with no seat belt and a wonky, kind of broken window. We were all set to go, but then the cabbie went out and he basically didn’t come back in forever. He was out there doing Godknowswhat. And even though it was raining, he kept rolling down my window for the heck of it, or springing my door open from a distance. All I could do was force a smile and shut the dang door. After a LONG time of that, I decided to just quit the taxi and find someone else until I noticed that my three (well, six if you count the puppies) were GONE. *Gasp* *Cue heart attack* I scrambled out of the car and went to look for them.
I found them on the gravel road leading out of there, all laughing and in evidently high spirits. I rushed up to them and demanded to know (in English–it appears that even though I was supposed to be fluent in Korean, I didn’t know how to actually speak it) why they were here. “What is going on? WHY am I feeling out of the loop–WHY do I not know what just happened??” I kind of wheezed it out because I’d just been running all over looking for them. They all laughed and one of them, who had a shell of white blonde hair and was the tallest (not saying much, all three were so thin and so tall it looked like they could be blown over by a breeze) told me how they had escaped from the hotel and the taxi driver, who turned out to be insane. Their story went like this: After getting stuck in the taxi, they slipped out and went back to the hotel, where the cabbie followed them and demanded money and even threatened them. They told him to go bother some random tourist in the hotel that was ‘rich’, and then they locked themselves in one of their rooms and plotted their escape. They got some bedsheets and knotted them one by one onto their suitcases and bags and then lowered the luggage, before they jumped off their balcony onto the first-floor balcony, and then hitched up their luggage and went on their merry way, without even bothering to come look for me. I was quiet for a minute, and then I remembered that, even though their room was on the third floor, looking down from their balcony made it seem like they were on the twenty-third floor because it was so high up. “How the hell did you guys jump from your balcony to the first floor?” I said. “That was so dangerous, I mean you could have killed yourselves!” They laughed that off and another one, who had very high black hair and sunglasses, said that they’d performed similar stunts in movies before, so it was a piece of cake. I had literally nothing to say to that, even though I wanted to scream something like “Acting in movies is different from living in reality you egotistical moron!!” I didn’t though. Nannies aren’t supposed to speak like that to their charges, FYI. Plus I was just too relieved to see them alive and well to say anything.
The last scene from that part of the dream was me walking down a wet gravel road with lots of lush greenery on the sides, with three puppies strung on a leash on my hand and with three impossibly tall and chipper and well-dressed guys singing loudly as they skipped along beside me. It was actually really cute–they were kind of like actual kids, what with the skipping and the singing and all that.
Then the dream changed, and I was a student, not a nanny or translator anymore. I was a student in this very dry, hot and dusty classroom where the floor was littered with shards of glass from the broken windows, and broken chairs and tables and random trash, and sand. I was sitting in a circle with other students, and we were learning German with a teacher named Miranda. Miranda was in her late thirties, I would guess, and she had this kind of really dark red hair. She was teaching us about the genders in German, der, die and das, etc, and she gave us a question. We finished the question and we were about to go out when our way was blocked by some terrorist-looking guys, who were all pointing automatics at us. Their leader said that he was taking us (the students) as hostages, and that he would be training his guns at us as we left the old broken school so some other soldiers wouldn’t shoot at his men. Miranda didn’t like that; she pulled out a gun of her own and said that she wouldn’t let another student of hers get hurt, by anyone. They threatened her but she didn’t budge, and then they shot her. They killed her. They let us go but we didn’t dare try to get Miranda out to see if we could help her save her. And after that happened, we all gathered together in a different place and paid our respects to Miranda. We talked about what she did, how she came to this place even though it was so dangerous, just because she believed that we should get a proper education. We talked about how she loved her students, loved each and every one of them with a fierce, burning love, hotter than flames, hotter than the sand in the desert. How she was brave enough to die for what she believed in, which was that everyone should have the right to learn.
I cried in that last bit. I don’t even know. It wasn’t real, but I suppose it could have been real once. I cry when I think of people who died in foreign countries as doctors or volunteers–they were willing to give their lives for people who they didn’t know, in a country that they had never been to. The Miranda in my dream could have been another teacher once…
And that’s it. My dream was totally strange, but it also made me cry a little. I’ll write more later today–it’s only nine a.m. right now, so not much has happened yet to write about.