last night i dreamt of zombies, and Bugis, and old shophouses that were beautiful in the twilit morning. the shophouses were from the Chinatown that always appears in my dreams: dusty but pretty clean, painted in shades muted but still garish enough to be Chinese, lining the sides of a street just wide enough for tourism-friendly (but never touristy) carts. my dreaming brain is so romantic and Hollywood-set like, i say. i stroll down the pavement and admire how early i am up, admire how short the street is when uncrowded and still just stirring, admire the absence of harshness or racuousness just as i see looming buildings so close (too close and disproportionate) i cannot recognise what they are. all this time i am peering into doorways, making sure the zombies aren't coming for me. i feel a strange sense of assurance that the morning will be fine.
it gets lighter and i meet the first rush of working people coming out
from work (breakfast?), suits and pencil skirts and proper shoes (i only looked at their shoes; don't remember any faces). they told me they were heading the other way (from whence i came so to speak), to the other building (apparently there were two buildings of the same name but they are separate and unaffiliated). i wondered if i should traverse the street with them and wondered why they exited the building from the winding carpark ramp.
on my way back across Bugis i remember the street from previous dreams (or have i seen this street in my haste to get to the NAFA campus for rehearsals?). at lunch it is bustling with working people who have no time, but queue and take away. the food is fresh and decent, and just a little expensive. i cast around for the elusive building (realising i had a destination in mind) and wonder if there is any good coffee to be found, or just ice cream there. my destination suddenly swims into obviousness in the murk of a twilight-addled dreaming mind - of course i have come for Tom's Palette.
cut into this are scenes (me, sister, cat, various friends) in my bedroom. the wall is still pink (it is now brown) and this somehow is embarrassing. i double-lock the door but it won't stop opening. i have to stand with my back to it to keep it closed and it is somehow a perpetual responsibility because my bed is next to the door. there are zombies in the house; we have succumbed and retreated - the room is our last fort. they have a zombie party with all our food and booze in the other rooms with all the lights and televisions turned on and look nothing like the zombies from Jolene and Xiaowen (thank goodness). the zombies are old Chinese folk who lived in Chinatown in the 1950s and they drink Chinese booze. i do not wonder where they found Chinese booze in our house. they have expressed only vague interest in the room with the people. day by day us humans grow in number (this is reassuring), and for some reason we aren't too scared to send people (usually juniors, or volunteers) out to run errands and pick stuff up. they usually come back with a friend or two seeking refuge. in a house filled with non-canon zombies, it is miraculous how my juniors get through to the second floor. presumably they proceed meekly and offer morsels of food, like at toll booths. i fail to figure out a way to get them into the room without unlocking the door and opening it wide enough for two people to come in. this is not self-evident in my dream and it worries me - what if the zombies were to charge us? there is no way out through the window. my sub-conscious is a shoddy architect. the dream ends when the person i am peripherally hoping to see comes in with some tupperware. i never get to see what is inside. i woke up clawing at sore eyes and looking for a cat.
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