i DREAMT A DREAM i KEPT ALiVE

I grew up a city life, where many things were readily available - from flipping a simple switch to turn on the lights, to twisting the tap that flows with that very fountain of life.

Sometimes I wonder if its too perfect.

I used to spend some holidays at grandmas, doing absolutely nothing, playing with dirt seemingly helping my aunt with the gardening, but otherwise, I don't recall being any more useful than being a nuisance and a sweetheart that puts a smile on grandma's face.

In truth, she never did raise her voice at me, neither lifting any fingers to hurt me. We hardly spoke, but each time I see her, she would smile, touch my head, and goad me out the kitchen. I had many fond memories about the old house she used to stay in: but one that I would vividly recall and put in my head whenever I need to escape - standing in the backyard, looking out into that vast fields of lalang that stretched for a really far distance. It was a sea of green with fluffy white top that met the horizon somewhere, or as far as my naked eyes could see.

Yes, I've blogged many times about that coffee aroma that punctuates the sweet air in the mornings. I hated sleeping at night cos I know as each time the sun rises, my holidays shortened. I don't watch a lot of TV whenever I'm there, and mom usually don't stop me from staying with her. Granted, although being in a different country,it did seem a little odd that mom's assured of my safety. Perhaps it's just grandma, who would protect me as she had with my mom and all her other eleven children.

The house had a broad balcony that surrounded the entire house, and my aunt was strict about the kids being there unsupervised. But whenever I had the chance to, I'd run ahead with the keys up to the door that opened the way into the balcony, twist the keys in that rusty old lock, and run out, looking right into the skies like always.

Those were the days that gave me what I wanted most now: freedom. Neither grandma would stop me from running around the house compounds, nor would my aunt stop me from catching flies that flocked to the food in the kitchen.

Back home, mom and dad had expectations, but the more rebellious and artistic senses overtook my better judgments - I wanted to create things, I don't want any conventions. They never did understand, but hardly tried to put a sock in it too.

I used to skateboard with friends around the neighborhood, climb the big structures at the playground, and play detective snooping into the vast compounds of my town. Those days, I made friends with the neighborhood kids, and hung out as much as the day would be. Sun down, and you can hear mom's screaming out my friends' names from the kitchen windows. That would be the end of play time, and dinner would be served.

Drawing was a hobby then. I remember lugging a sketch book similar to the one my brother used for his engineering drawings, and head out to wide spaces and just drew, whatever came to mind. I once did a pencil shading of a sand dune, with a lone crow perched to a side. My art teacher gave me an A, while the rest of my friends scratched their heads over it.

While my aunt stayed with my grandma, she left an old acoustic guitar at our place. My brother used to buy loads of tab books to learn the latest hit songs on radio, and when he was finally packed off to the Army, I took the guitar, and started learning basic chords. Never did I go beyond those chords, but they were enough to piece some songs together, and I tried to write some myself.

I recall hearing Padres on the radio when I was a teenager, and even watched them play a million times live, whenever they did. I was so inspired by their sense of rhythm, their styles, their everything. I was enamored with everything they did, so much so I wanted to play in a band too, and perhaps, catch up with them one day and play on the same stage, finally getting an autograph or two. Then, that would be it, the happiest day of my life.

And how life and goals changed.

School was a time when we learned about emotions. I used to feel embarassed, and shy, for I had no built, no height, and no looks. I was a late bloomer, shooting a hefty 1 meter in the last 5 years of my teens. But when I was in primary school, I was but the kid next door. No one looks at me, talks to me, or plays with me, except the kids in my neighborhood who, were just like me.

So when I finished my PSLE at the top of the charts, the kids were shocked at my achievements. They never thought that quiet boy could be that smart or hardworking. I was never a studious kid, honestly, and all I wanted was to dry, collect seeds from the Saga trees, or just writing my name in the sand pits for the long jumpers.

When my turn came to enlist, I was thrown in without a single friend that I knew from school. I was totally all on my own for the first time in my life, surrounded by a bunch of guys just like me. It was grueling, but we made do with whatever we could. And after a while, I found myself losing friends I made when I first joined, and eventually ended up in a place where everyone could go home, except me. So finally, I brought that guitar with me, trying to write songs that never did materialize. And that, was my only friend for a long time.

This guitar was finally stolen after I lent it to a friend who wanted to play in the same band. The guitar was a masterpiece, breaking at the neck once, and was glued back like a secondhand piece. It did work for as long as I could remember, and until it was gone, it was my voice of sorts.

Founding Nightsound was a kind of a dream to me, to finally realise what it was that strikes my chord, that embraces my visions. Never had I tried so hard to keep something going, something which tagged in close to my own heart, as well as others.

There were so many changes and so many songs that had been written, and each time I hear them back, I remember that old guitar, and the blue skies, and the lalang fields, and the coffee aroma, and grandma, and so many other things that just wouldn't go away. I don't wish them to go away, but sometimes, some things need to disappear to know its true value.

Perhaps my wishful thinking has gotten the better of me. For what I would think is an effort anyone could make, it was a milestone for people who thought much deeper into it. I appreciate that, and that's why, I dreamt a dream that I kept alive for so long, hoping that it could be as genuine as everything else in my life, just like how grandma would smile, and I know I can go out and play, without saying a single word.

I've lived a wondrous life that I still rejoice, hoping that it can go on. And with the decision to stop a dream, I seem to forget there were many others; but this is like no other. Grandma would smile, and it would be time for dinner when the sun sets. That I knew. Like I always knew.

And this sun, sets.

MiSSiNG AGAiN

Other than spending most of my time in Restaurant City, I hardly do anything else these days. Work's slowed to a mere trickle, and life's but a bitch. I wish something new comes along fast, can't stand being some helplessly waiting for things to happen. Not to mention my bills are piling higher every day.