The Room Outside

Once in awhile, I would allow myself to indulge in a dream. To dream, one needs an approval, for a dream is not a daydream. A daydream comes and goes naturally, spontaneously and almost subconsciously out of our desire. A dream requires a decision, and therefore, an approval, from at least oneself.

Today, at this moment, my dream, as it usually does, sprouts out of the short, transient daydream.

The image was a house-not-yet, or perhaps I should say: the non-image was a house-not-yet. This non-image of a house-not-yet is beginning of an idea: a dream.
There was only outside which is inside, finished with clean white glossy tiles was the landscape. It was breezy and surprisingly comforting atmosphere on a sunny afternoon. Enclosed by the surrounding trees and shaded by the overhang, I walked towards the white washed wall canvasing the dark grey shadows of the trees, rustling in response to the wind.
The door appeared as I approached. The wooden knob was round and the door, too, was of wood. I turned the knob clockwise, the door swing out. I was inside which is outside, the room was brighter than the before I enter. I closed my eyes then opened slowly to adjust to a strong ray of light from the front and above. It was glaring.
As my sight stabilized, I saw the room clearly, brightly lit, for the first time. The floors, the ceiling and the walls were grey, rough grey screed finished. The amazing thing was, the room was surrounded by weeds: the ilalang. And as I look above me, the skies are blue and clearer than the outside. The room was outside.
I walked down a few steps to the lake inside the room. The water was clear blue, sparkling the sunlight as the wind breezed the surface of the lake.

It was certainly a nice dream, I thought to myself on lazy afternoon in the office.