It’s been such a long time since I last remembered a dream. Usually, I’d be so engrossed in it for the first 30 minutes after waking, but lately, it’s all been a blur. Autopilot mode. I wake up already tired. I miss the feeling of holding onto a dream, even for a bit. I also miss sleeping casually—where sleep feels like a safe, free space.
When I was younger, I had this theory (and honestly, I still kind of do) that when we sleep, we travel to our other lives. We live as versions of ourselves in different universes or timelines. And then, we just return to the present when we wake up. It’s us—but only a part of us that’s existed somewhere else.
Anyway, this blog is about a recent dream.
It was showing end credits—like the end of a show. "My show."
It was implied that my life had ended. The dream only showed the number 52 and the words "The End."
That’s it. Nothing else.
I’m only 33 now.
If that dream is true, it means I have 19 years left to live.
If I had a child today, I might be able to see them reach adulthood (at least here in the Philippines, where 18 is usually that marker). But honestly... I’m still on the fence about having kids.
Life is hard.
And in all honesty, I don’t think I’m the best kind of person to procreate.
It would’ve been nice if we had a little more money. A little head start. But right now, my husband and I are still too busy supporting our extended families.
It could be cool and fulfilling to have a kid, though.
Not just “cool”... beautiful.
To love someone deeply, to give them a better life than we had.
But yeah... it’s not for everyone.
Just like being poor isn’t for everyone, yet here we are.
What if I really only have 19 years left?
I haven’t planned that far ahead.
How should I live my life then?
Is this a wake-up call?
Was the dream a nudge from something or Someone?
“Hey, you only have 19 years left. Are you sure this is how you want to spend them?”
With everything that’s happened lately, I don’t know how to speed up the healing process.
I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety and depression before. So how do I live, knowing there might only be 19 years left?
Does that knowledge cure me?
Do I just wake up one day and say, “Well, guess I’m not sick anymore because I don’t have time to be”?
This isn’t a rant. These are real questions bouncing around in my head.
I feel a little pressured now, to be honest...
wahahahahahah.
But it’s also kind of funny.
I’ve always been curious and worried. But now?
Now I’m challenged.
How do you live until 52?