Ordinary Dream

I've always felt that life is surreal and dreamlike.
It felt strange having to walk on a street,
to lay my body in horizontal when sleeping,
to apply lotion on my palm and shampoo on my scalp,
to put on shoes or wear a bra,
to sit in a restaurant and swallow its terrible dumpling,
to adore a fat cat sleeping in a mosque,
to hug a bride and pat the groom’s shoulder,
to make a dentist appointment,
to complain when somebody cut the line in front of Takoyaki stall,
to have a conversation of courtesy with an old man on the train,
to pay for a roller coaster ride,
or to argue with an uncle whose name I couldn't remember.

It feels like there was never a day I didn't feel strange about living.
On some sunny or rainy days, I daydreamed about another reality that perhaps exists, a universe where I never feel strange about being there.

...and then the pandemic hits. Hard..

What was then feels strange, now sounds blatantly ordinary in my faulty memory. The ordinary that I long for and deeply desire.

Oh to be lost in a crowd, to argue with friends about where to dine in,
to celebrate the marriage of a cousin,
to be rude in a family gathering,
to take a picture of clouds from the plane window,
to shake hands with new coworker,
to pick up my sister from school,
to kiss the palm of a grand mother,
to fell asleep during a boring film screening,
to be running late for a class then get expelled,
to taste weird flavor of gelatto,
to fight over next song in a karaoke room,
or to attend a concert of a local band though I only know one song.

It forces me to rethink and redefine the life I believed was surreal. "Let’s say that this is just another level of surreal,” you suggest one day. But I didn’t know if I agree.

Today I still don’t. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but I wish I have a little more time to tell you what’s in my mind.
Oh I wish.