Cottage Days

What is your dream?

Mine is of living in a bamboo cottage by the sea with shelves full of books and Internet access. Once a month, I would go for weekend forays into the so-called city where I will sit and listen to friends lament about their lost loves.

This dream intrudes into my consciousness on just the kind of days we are experiencing. You know, slightly downcast with just the hint of rain felt every time the wind blows. This is because on days like these, I can barely will myself to leave my bed and get the coffeemaker going.

Suddenly, I cross my fingers and wish real hard that I had enough money allowing me to throw caution to the wind, pack bags and forget the 9 to 5 grind.

Snug. Yes, that is how I picture the cottage to be. The comfort of wood and huge throw pillows scattered around an open balcony. Nipa— yes, that is what the roof should be. Airy and comforting, I won't even mind when chickens roost on its eaves.

Morning chores will be a joy. The rush and retreat of tides a welcome accompaniment to laundry and cooking. I will eat simple food, camote and corn grown by neighbors and flavored with mint and basil growing in pots around the house. Fish will be my source of protein, pork and beef eaten only during the local fiesta when it's rude to refuse a neighbor.

And I will run. Along the seashore, or under coconut trees. Never mind the thorns, holes and angry goats that join the chase. I will run because this dream frees me.

This is my promise.

At night, by lamplight, I will listen to stories of sigbin's and kapre's. Maybe even see a white lady or two walking on the seashore. If I'm lucky, one of them might even wave an invitation to their dance.

In your dream, is there someone with you? I can never tell. Sometimes, a shadow falls on the page of a book I'm reading. At other times, I hear a voice whispering my name. But this is better than before when there was never anyone. No hint of someone else in that little bamboo home. After all, who would be crazy enough to live in a house with only camote to fill the spaces gouged by hunger?

Still, you can never account for all that happens in dreams. It is an inverse universe where all your wants become realities and unfulfilled needs are shunted off into that little space in your mind labeled "something to be forgotten."

Does it really matter? Whether alone or with a significant other, our dreams are the reason why we work. The only reason why we persist to exist.

And the best thing about dreams? You don't have to apologize about it.