The Death of A Dream

The Death of a Dream


Admittedly, it is not easy when dreams have their deaths. And perhaps it would be quite useless to try to analyze, pierce together the pieces that may never be put together. Death has arrived, and it is here to stay. All that remain somehow is what happens after the burial.

Life goes on. Of course, until like dreams, it meets its own demise. And since the death of my life is still to come, there is only one other alternative, and that is to die a little each day while being alive. Funny, that for all of my skills that I have honed through the years, of how I somehow was able to breeze through storms in my life, this current situation holds small and fading hopes of ever being saved. And still, life goes on.

And perhaps just like as how it usually goes with stories of tragedies, or more appropriately with how it happens in life, new things pop out when you least expect it. As if by some twist of fate, or a glimpse of redemption, options started being laid upon me. All I have to do now is choose.

Work brought me to this city where I have no family, none of the blood kind that is. But as the wanderer that I am, it did not take long for me to be able to find company and solace with friends. Still, at that time, there was a certain tragedy in my work that I do love: for though I was working for women, there was no woman for me for whom you could say I could dedicate my works.

Until she came.

And her arrival made me want to stay, made me dream that amidst all that I have lost, I could begin again. I can have life again. But as we all know by now, that dream, and the promise of that life has died. Now, silence has become the language that she wants to talk with me.

Now, the fruits of our labor are nearly bearing fruit, a few more months and we would be officially recognized as a separate and independent department of this city government. From our humble beginnings, to the “squatter” days when we had to look for an available office space to making sure that our budget stays intact, those days are soon to be landmarks, milestones that we have endured in our belief to make women equal and productive partners of men in rebuilding this nation, one barangay at a time, one city at a time.

And when that day finally arrives, when the long struggle for the creation of this office is finally over, I know that the work of making sure that the office endures begins anew. But I don’t think I would be there when that happens. For me, it is enough that I know I did something positive in my war-torn, desolate, abandoned and tortured life. And so, if work is somehow accomplished, in one way or the other, what would still hold me in this city?

And just when these thoughts are in my head, friends are starting to signal again, for me to be there, far away from here and far away from home. It would not be easy, but having friends during harsh times do help. It would prove to be a fresh beginning. It would be a challenge that I know I could find worthwhile.

I remember years ago when I was in my downward spiral of despair, that physical death seemed to be the most logical choice at that time. I know, I know, those were the so called “crazy” times of my life. Later on, I realized that I did not have to cease to exist: I could go away. And now that is what is actually haunting me.

Is it time for me to go away?

It hurts like no other, every breath without hearing from her. It cuts something primal inside of me, I don’t know what part exactly, but I know something about me is being washed away. For some reason, I still hope that somehow, before I am completely gone, she would be back, and she would hold me like she once did. Perhaps she will. And perhaps she never will.

I remember, in the beginning, when I told myself that her age would play a significant part in the changes that I knew that would be coming. And not only was it in my head but I even told her about it, that, if ever, she would change her mind about us, that if finally my sense of mystery and allure has finally faded and she decides to leave me, to abandon me, all she had to do was do it. No hesitation, no excuses, no explanation. Just say the killing and binding words. And though I am waiting for her to come back, a part of me I believe is just waiting for her to exactly do that, to kill me.

Sweet peach of my dream, let it come. Whether you hold inside of you the sweet poison for my demise, or the sweet juice for this thirst that has been drying me up since you left me.

Please.