I find myself standing in front of a pearl white door with a number embossed in a silver-like metal. Surveying my surroundings, I tried to get my bearings. Then it hit me.
Grand Hotel, Michigan.
The green-carpeted floors, the paintings of the island, the female room attendants dressed in gray maid-like uniforms, the reverberations coming from the vacuum, the Grand Hotel logo.
After much deliberation, I thought of a million things to do. I need a picture with my bosses, catch-up with my friends, tour the hotel to see if anything new came up while I was gone. I could go on with my mental list.
The Jamaican bellboy, dressed up in his red and black uniform, directed me to my room. As we walked, I could see where we were headed to. Two glass doors, beyond of which, was a brown sturdy net-like material that formed a somewhat makeshift slide. At the end was an entrance to what would seem like a room. I tilted my head slightly. I gazed straight down, hearing a carriage drawn by a horse making clattering sounds with its hooves. Without any second thoughts, I slid down. At a tremendous speed, the icy cold wind forced me to close my eyes. Everything went black.
I opened my eyes. I gazed into the inclined white ceiling. I gestured my left arm upwards on my head, squinting my eyes as if the fluorescent lamp was emitting too much light. To my right was my two huge luggages placed side by side. Infront was a light switch with a rosary hanging onto it. Familiar walls painted in blue green surrounded me. I tried getting up but the comfy bed kept pulling me back to deep slumber. As I was about to be reeled in, an infernal racket resonated in the entire room. It was my alarm clock. I turned it off.
A dream, huh?
As of late, I have been having all sorts of dreams of America. Just last month, I dreamed I was in Washington, with a bus load of people. Strange.
Rarely do I get dreams that are ever so vivid, especially after I wake up. My usual dreams are shattered fragments, coming to me a little shard at a time. Most of the time, I couldn’t completely remember what I dreamed of.
What could all these dreams I’m having possibly mean?
Great dreams of great dreamers are always transcended. ~ A. P. J. Abdul Kalam