You know what? I just realized that I might never meet my soul mate because I don’t dare to bare my soul in real life. I don’t dare to be me, at least, however much of ‘me’ I have figured out at this point of my life.
So if I’m walking around living a life that isn’t me, well, then how am I going to find The One? Or rather, how is he going to find me?
I dreamt of him, though, the lover I haven’t met. When I woke up, I was sure I knew him somewhere in real life. He just gave off that much of a familiar vibe. Then again, he was already my lover in the dream and we were all ease with each other. Still, he seemed familiar. I just hope he wasn’t some movie star on TV. Too far out of reach.
You were cooking (ha. hahahaha.), something stir fry and noodley, I think. You were at the hawker centre, chatting with the other hawkers who were cooking alongside you. You were laughing and joking, old friends. I come along and we smile, happy to see each other. You call a greeting to me, put down your wok and come to me, dabbing at the sweat on your forehead with the ‘good morning’ towel around your neck.
I call my greetings to the rest of the hawkers. “Can I borrow him for a while?” I ask them, and they nod and laugh knowingly as I draw you a little away by your wrist.
You regard me with coy surprise. “I need a favour from you.” I whisper excitedly, hopefully. You sober, waiting expectantly for my great request.
I speak. “Can you…make 6 flavours of wanton mee, 5 bowls each?” I do a mental calculation. “30 bowls.”
You laugh incredulously. “What? 30 bowls? Of wanton mee?”
I wave at the little girl by the orphanage not far away from us, the orphanage that I had just left, shrunk into the size of a paper doll house. “Yes, please? It’s for them.”
You laugh some more at my request and acquiesce boisterously, making the task known to all your hawker friends, who laugh along good naturedly.
I dreamt of you a second time. It was much shorter. But I forgot.
I don’t know. Dreams are weird. It made sense then when I asked him to cook 30 bowls of wanton mee. I don’t even eat wanton mee. I don’t know what it is (Singaporean fail) but I’m sure there is only one flavour of wanton mee. I don’t know where the six flavours came from. Maybe it was all that mooncake shopping. All the mooncake flavours. Mooncake though. ❤ ❤ ❤ So much good natured laughing in it too.
I don’t know why a hawker, though.
Racking my brain, trying to remember who you are. I feel like once I remember you, I can slowly work from there, like knowing the answer key and then slowly working up to it…is that cheating?
Argh why is this so hard