Sunday, September 20, 2009


I know this place. I live here, but I have never seen it before. I just know.

I walk into the bedroom. There are clothes everywhere. An open suitcase is sitting on the floor, half full. A sea of panic sweeps through me like a tidal wave: there isn’t time. I must go now. What do I do with the clothes? And all the other things I have?

I can only take one suitcase with me. I must leave them here and go now.

Are they watching me? I must go around the house. The kids. Where are the kids? Did they hide my kids? I can’t leave without them, and they know it.

Shhh…we have to walk quietly, or they will hear us. Quickly - we have to go before they find out.

Did we take the bus to the border? I can’t remember, even though it’s a three-day bus/car trip. We must have, right? It must have been too difficult a trip to remember: with kids, luggage, hotels, traveling in a country where I don’t speak the language, and all other details I had to deal with. I can’t think about it. It’s too much.

What about the border security? Did we pretend to be tourists? Did we get caught? Somehow we fooled them and passed the border, didn’t we? We are alright now. We are all together.

It doesn’t matter how we got here. We arrive at the airport now.

The airport is packed. Andy, where is your passport? Amy, follow me - don’t get lost. Watch out for the luggage, Andy. Where is my passport? I dig into my purse, but I can’t find it. Did I forget the passport at home? My heart is pounding louder and faster. I forgot my passport. What do I do? No, I can’t go back. They are going to keep my babies.

Please. I have to catch this plane. Please let us go before they catch us and take us home. Please…

Somehow we get through. The plane is leaving, they said, you’d better hurry. We run as fast as we could, dragging the luggage behind us. Hurry, Andy. We can’t miss the flight. Faster, Amy.

It’s too late. The plane had pulled away from the terminal and is dashing down the taxiway. It’s too late to catch it. We’ll never leave here.


I wake up, heart pounding and forehead clammy.

It has been more than twenty years, and the dream will not stop. I am forever trapped in the house in another country, can’t find a way out.

It all started when they asked me, “Why don’t you leave your son here and go back by yourself?”

I regret the moment I agreed to make the long journey to visit my in-laws. I’m paying the price repeatedly - in the form of the never ending nightmare.


  1. Okay seriously - you just gave me chills!!

  2. sorry. :(
    with your brilliant insights on balancing life under all sorts of difficulties, do you happen to know a way to stop the recurring nightmare?

  3. That is a very scary story. The suspense nearly killed me! OK, not literally, but still, great job! :D

  4. thanks danny. just checked out second life. i think it's scarier than real life! :)

  5. Dear Sarah maybe a visualization session would let you free from those bad memories stored deep inside yourself. But writing them down helps a lot already.


  6. thanks for the suggestion, lorenza. i'll have to look into that.

  7. heeeeeeeess baaaack,
    hi sarah,
    wow nice post really cool

  8. Sarah, got you sumthin, come by and see.

  9. Wow, I can't imagine the terror of having a dream like that. I've dreamed of taking one to the head countless times, but even that pales in comparison to the pain of losing one's kids, or at least that's what I'm told.


  10. hi jenno - thanks for stopping by. your digital arts are cool!

  11. hunter - thanks for stopping by!

  12. As I read this I could feel your anguish, your terror. It sounds a bit patronising telling you that you write well (considering the subject matter is so personal to you) but what the hell. You write well. I'm just sorry you have to experience this. :(

  13. thank you, lou. i don't need to tell you that you write very well as well - you must already know. i'm happy if i can connect to just one person with my story. cheers!

  14. Sarah, I'm so glad i don't have that dream! I bet you wake up sweating for sure. Sometimes, fairly often, I dream I cannot run, although I can leap like a frog or a kangaroo using all 4s. Don't know what the heck that's about.

  15. sandra - i'd rather have your dream instead! :)



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