dreams and nightmares

are the point where candle wax divots meet

Two nights ago, I had a nightmare.

In this alternate reality, my eyes feigned sleep, my body lay still, and my mind calculated the sounds of someone pacing around my hotel room.

I wanted to know who. Given my calmness, it had to be someone familiar, someone expected. But still, someone unknown.

Why didn’t I open my eyes? I couldn’t understand myself.

Then, as if it were an action determined beyond my control, I pretended to jolt awake, dramatically recoiling my body under the bedsheets.

You woke me up, I said wearily into the room.

My eyes remained closed, but I could sense the presence hesitating, just beyond my vision.

Before I could get a response, I woke up for real.

My sheets were on the ground.

…

Last night, I had a dream.

It was dark out, but the breeze felt warm against my bare legs.

Does the color of warm darkness differ from the color of cold darkness? In my dream, it did. But I can no longer explain it.

I was in Hawaii. Despite there being no indication of when the sun might rise, I was already on my way to get coffee at Lappert's. I was alone, yet, I didn’t feel lonely.

Since when did my dreams become so grown-up? Once upon a time, I dreamt of things like flying around and playing with dinosaurs. Now, my dreams were just rational desires—attainable in life, but unreachable in sleep.

I woke up in the middle of that tropical walk, meaning I never got my coffee.

It’s okay. I don’t think I was ever supposed to reach it.

…

Tonight, I will have yet another night with another dream, continuing what feels like a month-long streak.

Good dreams leave me rested.

Nightmares stress me, but maybe they’re just my brain working through problems in the background.

Passive therapy, one hopes.

…

There’s one nightmare I’m surprised I haven’t had yet.

Context: most Korean grocery stores in downtown LA exist within larger Korean malls—self-contained ecosystems of food courts, bakeries, clothing boutiques, and stationery stores.

Inside one particular mall is a shop that sells home gadgets. Every time I pass, I see the same featured product—a robot vacuum.

I’m haunted by the way it’s displayed.

The vacuum sits on top of a cube that is much too small. It keeps turning and turning, forced to move, but without anywhere to go.

I watch the creature writhe in pain, but instead of offering to help, all I can imagine is how clean the area under its belly must be.

They say empathy is the ability to understand and share another’s feelings. I feel empathy toward this non-sentient thing, but of course, it doesn’t give a shit about me. It’s a robot.

I don’t know what bothers me more—how easy it is to anthropomorphize suffering, or the reality that this vacuum is not suffering at all.

Maybe I’ve never dreamed of this because I’ve already lived it.

There is nothing left to imagine.