Then I’d step out in an Ibanese women garb, which I’d seen before in some civics textbook when I was in secondary school. Always, I’d wake up at that point, and there’d be a rattle in my bones. I got used to it as I grew up. But when I was a kid, ine would be right there if I woke up afraid. It’s always like she knew when I would make that dream. She’d hand me a glass of water. Then she’d stroke my hair, and her soft coos faded into the night only as I returned to sleep.
Then she’d go on to tell me I’ve forgotten about that dream of becoming a shaman again. She’d always talk to me about it as if she was actually inside that dream.
‘Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? You are a vessel of the celestial. You’ve transcended; you can heal!’ ine always says. ‘I’m supposed to tell to heed that dream, that calling. But you already have enough worries weighing on your chest.’
Eden
︎
I remember once I told a one-night-stand about this. He just shrugged, and told me that the search for belonging never ends, that I can only go along with it.
His reply surprised me; not everyone has the luxury to wax poetic. But I wanted to see how far he could go. I told him, maybe we’re all born travellers, and only some of us are lucky enough to find, at the very least, the feeling of home. He didn’t reply, and left.
