I must have spent at least an hour last night, knowingly dreaming through the house and the colony I'd grown up back home, before I finally slipped off to sleep. It was not just the old chest infection-turned fever that caused the delirious trip, somehow I was quite enjoying it and I wanted to do it. I guess you could call it an exquisite work of the imagination, but it was nice all the same, to go through all of that experiencing extremes of joy, anger and sometimes sadness during various times.
It started off at the main road, from where I walked down, remembering each and every house on both sides and the people who lived in them and my memories associated with them. I could also even imagine the picture of a younger me climbing over walls and running around, the cricket and football games we've played on the streets. I could have sworn that I almost heard my own voice, even though it is something that I hate listening to.
It was not a painful experience, though the chasm between that life and my life now was a bit disturbing. I can positively identify with both and yet they are such extremes that I cannot understand how can that be possible. Maybe, as a dear friend recently told me, the chasm exists only in my mind and perception, which is probably true since I don't think you can't change much of what is at your core.