I’m so rude, even in my dreams.
I dreamed that I hung out with mom (?), brother, my cousin, and my aunt.
Apparently, my aunt and I were fucking fantastic buddies.
Anyways, it was assumed that my uncle was dead, what the hell is wrong with me.
And we ate at my favorite restaurant, which was literally someplace that I don’t recognize, but anyways, we walked there, and passed by a bus stop.
I dream in the same city. It’s a great, big, multi-sectioned city.
The dream ends.
That’s always what Graduation Day meant to me. It wasn’t very fancy, or such. A pretty bad day, you could argue. I got out of 6th period Economics, with Ms. Monosso, who people made fun of for her manliness, me included.I got picked up by my mom who was crazy busy that day, with, I don’t remember what. So we got home, and I had to make something to eat before going to Arco Arena (always Arco Arena). I made something simple, and then I was driven to Cathy’s house, who would give me a lift to Arco, since again my mom was busy.
Somehow, we agreed that my sister and brother-in-law didn’t need to be there, since there wasn’t much time for a dinner and I said they didn’t want to be bored anyways. I kinda wish they came now. Oh well.
So I got to Cathy’s house, and we took pictures and such, and looked like a couple that just bought a new home (lol). Really though, that was nice. Anyways, so Zane came over, since Cathy’s parents agreed to give him a ride as well. What nice people. Zane was fucking annoying though. Checking his hair every 10 minutes. And I had to sit next to him in the car, whatever.
Anyways, the graduation cap was pretty difficult to keep on, even though I bobby pin’d it like a million times. Like, it literally fell off as I was walking up to get my diploma frame. We didn’t actually get the diploma until we went back to school two days later or so. Okay.
So during graduation, I had to sit next to this girl named Allie, and she was extremely nice. But on my left, sat Michelle, a girl I had been friends with. But she became cool and she became popular, while I remained painfully awkward. Literally, I thought of her as one of my best friends in middle school. Middle school kind of sucked a lot. Anyways.
Why did the dream end? Because my sister was basically waiting for me to finish high school before she’d move back to her own house. Wow, my sister lived with us for a little less than two years. That’s longer than I thought. Dream ends, because everything would begin to change. My friends would all leave, and I would go to East Bay, venturing alone. “Hey, I’ll be at Davis too!” “Come visit me at Berekeley!” And then there was me, going to the poorly unknown CSUEB. But it’s alright, it was for my own good. I wanted to get a fresh start. Meet new people, and maybe come back to my cow town to show people how much I had grown.
I was pretty mistaken, but that’s another thing for another time.
It’s been about 13 months since that day last year that I wanted to kill myself.
I cried in front of my own mother. I would assume it’s usually safe and comforting to cry in front of such a trusted person, but no. It was shameful, and I was terribly embarrassed. Embarrassed.
I guess its understandable for her not to want to see my crying. She didn’t raise me that way, she must have thought. I’m supposed to be better than that. Stronger than that. More considerate than that.
Considerate, because my crying must have been an inconvenience. I thought crying would stop a person from yelling at you. But nah, you just raised your voice more and more. You loudly asked why I was crying, and between sobs, I tried to say my feelings. But I guess they were just a trivial matter, because even when I told you, you were still angry. Spoke even louder. I didn’t like that.What made things worse was the fact that a stranger walked by the car, while I was sobbing and my mom was yelling. We parked on the curb with the parking meters. The window was rolled down, so front seat viewing for them, basically. I hope they don’t remember my face, and I hope I don’t have class with them.
It’s been this long since she has seen me cry. Never again, I always tell myself.
I had an interesting way of killing myself. I either wanted to jump into the bay and drown and deteriorate, or jump off the hill and hope that if I’m not dead by then, I would be by the time I rolled down to wherever it lead to, full of scratches and bumps, bleeding like mad. (I now know that where I thought of jumping only leads to the stadium, so nvm. Silly me.)
Interestingly enough, we went to my aunt’s place that day after the whole Welcome Day ordeal and my cousin took me to SF and we took purikura pictures. It ended up being a nice day, even nicer that I chose not to kill myself.
I guess that’s why those pictures are so special to me.
When my dad passed away, our culture said to mourn him for 49 days.
The 49th day fell on Mother’s day.
That morning, I had a dream, that my dad was picking me up from school, and it must have been somewhere during the latter half of the year, since the sun was already setting, and it barely hit 4 pm or so.
The sun was shining directly in my face, so much that when I turned to face my dad, there was a glare. And I mean, a bright glare.
As he slowed to a stop to right turn into our neighborhood, he said to me, in his usual nonchalant tone, “Irene, after this day, I won’t be here anymore.”
To say the least, I woke up terrified and tormented.
After that day, I never saw him in my dreams again.