grossly sincere

Today was the first day of a big snowstorm hitting the lovely state of Maryland. We were warned of 10 inches of snow, and I’m certain that some parts of the state received that, but my location seemed to only receive half of that. I’m still pretty pleased with it, because it meant that I didn’t have to go into work today.

I spent the hours before it actually started snowing doing my snowed-in activities, so when today came, I had absolutely nothing planned. I made shrimp tempura udon and champorado, some comfort foods to get me through the cold… but doing that exhausted my plans immediately. So, as any tired little lady would do, I slept in quite late, laid around in bed for a while, then took a nice nap after eating.

What my nap dream showed me was striking to me.

When I was younger, my family hosted a lot of big parties at our house. We didn’t have a particularly large house, but I think its coziness made it a good spot for all our friends and family to gather with us. There was enough space everywhere for everyone to sit close with one another, not to mention the heaps of Filipino dishes and desserts to graze from. I still remember the giddiness of cleaning my room, cleaning the kitchen, and straightening up the sala, waiting for guests to arrive. I remember the smell of the kitchen as my mom prepared pancit, cassava cake, or sometimes even this strange Filipino party dish(?), with  mini crimson hot dogs, marshmallows, and fruit pierced through a barbecue stick and into a pineapple.

I look back on these parties fondly. They gave me a chance to socialize, observe, and, honestly.. show off. Whether it was some cool new toy I had, a nice outfit I put together, or even just the way I decorated my room, I found these parties to benefit me for the most part. For others, they were a source of joy and merriment to all, with drinking (albeit excessive), laughter, and chismis to go around.

Over the years, the parties at my house stopped, and relationships began to drift. Reaching my teenage years made me feel alienated from everyone, and I found all of this hedonistic celebration obnoxious, barring me from participating. I was locked up in my room, resenting the boom of karaoke throughout the house, and rarely made an appearance only to eat. I lost the desire and interest in partying—or, as much partying as an 11-year-old could do.

When I took a nap today, I didn’t really expect to have a dream about all that. It’s been a long while since my family threw a big party, and I don’t expect another any time soon. But what I found striking in my dream was that everyone and everything resembled those prime years of Filipino house parties, with all my aunties, uncles, and cousins younger, the furniture laid out the same, the house as cozy as it was, but everyone knew we were in the past. We were trying to relive those years, those parties, but no one enjoyed it. I remember hanging out in my brother’s room with all our other cousins, sitting around playing video games, but our hearts weren’t in it. There was a sad layer of self-awareness of what was happening, but no one spoke a word. I grew tired of the hollow laughter and zombie-like gathering and confronted the crowd, saying, “This isn’t supposed to be happening. We are living in memories. What’s happened has already happened, and we can’t go back.”

I woke up shortly after that, and it left me shocked. It was such a cliché ending to the dream, a cliché to confront the problem that way, but there was truth in dream Erica’s words. I think a lot about the past, about what’s happened, the things people have said to me, the things I’ve said to others. I ruminate and ruminate, and nothing ever really comes out of it, other than me deciding to take some buspirone. I think a lot about the things I could have done, the things I could have said to change what’s happened, and it does absolutely nothing. In the end, they’re just thoughts swimming around in my head.

But memories are powerful. That’s why we tend to get lost in them. There’s actually a really good short by Satoshi Kon exploring this idea: Magnetic Rose (1995).

I wanted to write a little more, but I’m hungry and I have to make myself dinner. I hope you enjoyed this little journal entry/snowfall update. I’ve been wanting to write about the dreams I have for a while, and the weather permitted me to do such a thing.

Goodbye for now.