The beauty of longing

I had a dream of my grandfather last night. It was a beautiful dream and I was crying in it. All the years of silent, subconscious longing ran rampant in the make believe scene of absolute dismal, angst and ; happiness.

He was in a car with me in the dream. I could not remember how “old” I should have been in the dream. But definitely, a small child, probably the indication that made most sense – for I was closest to him during my childhood years. I was cuddled up in his embrace. It felt as though I could smell the talcum powder he used to dust over himself after shower. I could feel the wrinkles on his broad palms. And as I was, a bundle of over brimming loved up grandchild, I could feel the warmth that he has always emitted.

(I remember holding his hand in restaurants when I was cold, for he was always warm.)

The car was driving, as though a long winding road. He repeatedly patted my hand and said: “Don’t worry Ah pai (my nickname), don’t worry. ”

I was crying like a heartbroken maniac because even in the dream I knew he was…. already gone?

I was actually crying and clutching his hand so tight, and telling myself (in the dream) Please, please don’t go Gong Gong, please…

He smiled at me in the dream and out of nowhere he passed me alot of money. (Indicative of my financial worries)

The car finally stopped. He brought me to a Grand and beautiful hotel and said, hey, look I found a job that you will really love. And its totally relevant to your degree. Work hard okay? (Because we all know I am now looking for a new job)

I was supposed to “commence work” as the GM of the hotel was waiting for me. I turned to look at my grandfather who was walking back to the car. I started crying again and soon the beautiful dream all started to fade away. But he turned back in the dream to wave and smile. and he mouthed “Take care!!! Work hard qiqi!”

I woke up crying, as I am, still crying now.

It is now that I realize the beauty of longing. There are some people that truly will never leave your heart. Even with physical absence, even with time. I begin to think, that’s probably what true love is all about.


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