(16:33pm): A Dream Story.

TODAY(Written on August 30th, 2025, a sabbath evening), somewhere between exhaustion and the sweetness of evening sleep, dream stories happen. I am trying to think on who really does the stitching of some stories. Of dream stories. I can't quite tell but how I wish it was heaven doing the stitching or the artist HIMSELF(GOD). Not for all stories, but for stories like the one I am about to throw here. 

It was around 4 p.m. today when I drifted into one of those deep day-sleeps. I remember lying on my bed, my phone just an arm’s reach away, its soft black screen reflecting a faint silhouette of me(just super plainly). The curtain was swaying lazily in the evening wind. My desk was still crowded with reminders of schoolwork. Papers and books scattered, a pen lying diagonally across an unfinished page of Neuroscience notes, and my bag leaning tiredly against my desk. I could hear it say, "What a heavy week I have ever endured." My whole body was weary after a week of intense work and my mind begged for release. And so I gave in to the release. 

Did I know if my head was preparing a script where my two guy friends will take lead roles? I didn't. I wish I had known.(All names and identifying details in this post have been changed for discretion of those who made a cameo in the dream. However, the affection for one of them is genuine. Don't read too much into it. (Or do. Whatever.) Here I tried to describe all the little things exactly as remembered). 

It began in what looked like a church gathering. I could hear melodious voices and overflowing music. Teachers of music took turns on stage. They rotated each taking turn to lead. I thought for a second that they were rehearsing for a heavenly choir. And Chemo my good friend? He stood among them. Slimmer than I’d ever seen him in real life, younger even, though I know he is older than he looked in the dream. Their harmonies were rising and falling.(In my mind as a staunch lover of trigonometry, I was already sketching the sine graph with the chilled nodes in between when they voices were moderate). Chemo and I were to meet someday and catch up on life. But here he appeared. Prematurely. Not at all the way I had anticipated. He appeared full of a brilliance that drew every eye mine included. On his hand was a music book that my subconscious mischievously made it resemble the notebook Nema carried moments before(Like literally, literally in real life)at a presentation.

As I am on with chatting this down, one question keeps burning. Isn’t it wild how dreams steal details from life and tuck them back into new contexts? Into something totally new?

I tried to smile at Chemo. A small, hopeful and kind gesture across the congregation to show that I saw him and was rooting for him, but he didn’t see me. He didn’t notice me at all. (This made me so sad. Insanely sad. How could he not see me? A wasted smile? Not fun stuff even in a dream, lol!) He went to ask my primary school friend, Immaculate, if she knew and had seen me. Immaculate hadn’t seen me yet and so she told him no. Isn't it strange how invisible we sometimes are even in our own dreams? That we can easily go unnoticed?

And yet, I admired him. His stage presence was commanding and commendable. His conducting? Very musical, clear, brilliant....all those! those! In harmony with the beats and rhythm. His voice regulation was top notch. The singers followed his cues like water flows in its channel. (This reminded me of our stream back at home. River Mogonga and how obediently it has followed it's channel through the years I have lived to know it). His confidence amazed me loads! It was beautiful to witness, because I love when my friends do good things. I was impressed by him again, and again. Not with any form of deep, deep personal, intimate admiration(because honestly, there is none there), but with the pure joy I feel whenever my friends shine. 

Time moved strangely, as it often does in dreams. And as the singing drew to a close, Immaculate, my primary school classmate , was by my side, telling me about her 1.5-month nursing tuition program she had just completed. I too shared with her about my own school chaos. About week one, the craziest week of my entire student life. Books, deadlines, time flying, a super overloaded plate both from academic life, social life, and all other aspects of life, and endless pressure packed into days that felt very short. (I wished to turn the clock behind many times that week but poor me didn't have the power to do so. Never have I or will I ever. There was so much in the to-do list but on allocating sensible time for each, there was still more, and more, and more again! And so I cried, and cried, and cried again, and again. Not that crying would add me more hours to the 24 hours that I have. But because crying was the only thing I could do. And when it got to Friday sunset, my heart feeelt so fully released. Like a heavy burden had been taken away. I am really grateful that I get to rest on this sabbath. It could be worse if we had to do things all seven days of the week. The mind needs rest. The body does. The whole of you and me needs REST. Even from the good things that we care so much about). It's unsettling how even in that warm evening rest, my exhaustion had followed me.

But then, in the dream, something almost childlike happened. My friends tried to cover me with lesos so that Chemo wouldn’t see me. A red one, then almost a blue one. I declined the second. I think I didn't want him to see me. Reason? I don't know why. Maybe from the missed smile? Maybe from him missing to recognize me in the first place? But I wanted to see him. And therefore, I laid on my friend Immaculate's lap partially covered with the red leso. I had my black maxi dress on. Looking all gorgeous. A few minutes later, I felt someone taking the leso to uncover me. I knew it had to be Chemo. I was sure it was him. And so, I looked up, ready to congratulate him. 

Do you know what I saw? What I saw made my heart leap a bit in a way that still lingers in my heart as I write this.(No one prepares you for this crazy twists even in dreams. Not even Alex Michaelides- He needs to start from where he left me with that shocking and breathtaking twist. My heart is still so heavy from siding with Theo from the onset of the novel. He seemed to mean well for Alicia knowing exactly what had happened. I still don't know what to feel for him as his great cheerleader from ghe first moments I encountered him. The last pages were absolutely the hardest to read with that mind- blowing twist. Thank God it was only fiction.) (TODAY, I am thankful to God for who HE IS, for all those who have mastered the art of putting words together that leave us with an endless desire of exploring a few more pages, for amazing human beings, for Nema[The one who makes me smile so effortlessly and has made me challenge my perspective on differents concepts. Nema who my soul likes. The smell of roses is Nema to me. There are other Nemas though. I know God will want me to pick one. I will pick one. I will LOVE one. One who will be the fairest, among all men. What's the worst that may befall me? So I will grow LORD, so LIVE, so LIKE, so LOVE .....and so DIE.❤️😊], for Chemo, for you my esteemed reader, for this rectangular device and internet, for LIFE and ability to write, and for the ability to dream). (Something as mighty as DREAMING! Brings me happiness really even just by the mention or typing it's letters).

It wasn’t Chemo. It was Nema.

Nema, whom I really, really, really like. Nema, the one I josh with as being just a “friend,” though deep down I know that’s just a safe mask I put on what I truly feel. I can see how much I like him in the way I celebrate his joys secretly. How I carry his pain, in how often I think of him, in the way his presence brings comfort to my heart even when he isn’t speaking, and how he lingers quite longer in my thoughts. (He needs to start paying rent if this continues!😃) In how I nod in agreement in every sensible conversation we have(happens most of the times). In how sad I feel when he gets mad at me.(Gets me overthinking a lot). In how much I find myself writing about him in my journal entries. I still haven't understood how deep this liking is that it could take the place of Adrian. (Adrian is my muse). 

There he was. Not overly tall, but warm and smiling. My hair was in a bun; I remember that clearly. I gave him the warm, long embrace I’ve always longed to give, while trembling profusely(I just like trembling. Not the kind of a chameleon that we learnt in our introductory lessons to similies in those English Aid books in standard 4. It was trembling out of joy while processing what I couldn’t quite fully fathom. That it's actually happening right in front of my face). I was so surprised. He received it like it was natural. 

Around us, I saw my cousin, Happiness. She was smiling knowingly, knowing how much I liked Nema. I saw my friend Immaculate’s grin. I saw other people gazing too. And yet none of that mattered at that moment. For the first time, it was just US(Nema and I). 

We(Nema and I) sat on the grass, close. The outside was giving a wide view of all the surrounding landscape. We rested under the sky which was now our roof. It was so blue.(This brought a flashback of those tremendous and uplifting August camp meeting days back at home. Those long 7 days (amatuko amachenu yebigutu(Camp meeting days) with that beautiful makambi song: Ebisio amang'ana yenkoro, gosaba, gosoma ring'ana, igo nario tokorigia mono, ebigutu kera omwaka. Aiga mbare, ababwatete, ababwatete, machiko aaye, nokwegena kwa Yeso) when the ground clothed with grass was our chair and the sky our roof. Got unbearable on those hot afternoons when you had no umbrella and kinda had to just persevere through it all. The tents and ebigutu were mostly for the adults and guests. I miss that life. Those moments which are memories for now. It was fun and educating while it lasted. Those were the times some great life values were instilled on us from a tender age. The respect for the elderly: that you can't be seated on a chair while someone older is seated on the grass. Patience. Perseverance more so with the crazy hot sun. Faith. Love and sharing. Goodness. The power of fervently praying and searching the scriptures with vigor, leadership, and all those values that I can't quite jot down fully).

 A minute later, Nema reached into his pocket for his phone while seated. He sat upright; I knelt behind him, my arms still around him from the back. My head rested gently on his right shoulder. The moment felt so tender, so sacred, and holy even. It was like a scene cut out of a hymn that chose to sing itself on that dreamy moment. The hymn, "Heavenly Father" started ringing. The first two stanzas took stage:

"1. Children of the heav'nly Father,

Safely in his bosom gather;

Nesting bird nor star in Heaven

Such a refuge e'er was given.

2. God his own does tend and nourish;

In his holy courts they flourish.

From all evil things he spares them;

In his mighty arms he bears them."

I felt safe in Nema's shoulders. For seconds it felt like HOME until it wasn't. (It's really fun how dreams make me experience things that I have never or will never experience in real life.😄 Dreams are mighty).

His heart and body trembled. So did mine.😊(l like the idea of people trembling. More so when we are holding hands together during prayer. I just love it. Cheers to more days of healthful trembling🍻).

And then he whispered words I never thought I’d hear, not even in a dream:

“Perhaps this is our first photo as a boyfriend and girlfriend.”

I almost laughed in my sleep. Me? Hearing that line from him? Hehe!

Yet the picture we took together in that dream was beautiful and real- I could literally sketch it down on paper if I was a skilled pencil artist. Poor me!😟(It's so fun and interesting at the same time how dreams bring small pieces of reality together. Like real faces. Meeehn! Meehn!). He called it 'adorable.' He said he was feeling things. I ignored his confession but couldn't quite resist the joy that was washing over inside me. I hid my joy by firmly focusing my eyes fixed on the portrait(It felt so real, it still does). I wanted to hold onto that picture forever, to tuck it into the folds of reality and go back to it every time I want to.

I was wishing for reality. And reality surely came matching in. It cut the thread. My hand reached for his phone, but in the waking world, my hand was literally reaching for my own that lay beside me. In that thin veil between dreaming and waking, I was certain I could save the picture on his phone and send it to myself as well. Certain I could claim the moment forever and 'keep it in a photograph.' The audacity! 

The dream blurred.

I woke up.

All I saw was the black mirror of my phone screen, the time 16:33 pm glowing coldly, day and date- Saturday, August 30th, and the wallpaper of me and my youngest sister smiling back. No Nema. No Chemo. (All miles away and nowhere to be seen). No photograph. No embrace. Just me, awake and confused, in a room that suddenly felt quieter than everrr before. I was smiling, sadly through the irony of how a dream can gift you a whole new memory and snatch it away within seconds.

I frowned first, but then I am smiling. smiling because this dream reminds me of the beauty we long for, the people who live in our hearts, and the truths we’re not always brave enough to admit in daylight. Like telling someone how much we honor them, have their best interest at our hearts, like or even 'love' them.

I am still seated on my bed as I am winding up this. I don't tire to wonder. Are dreams really only dreams? Or are they rehearsals of possibilities we are too afraid to write in our awakefulness? I’ll let you decide.

This dream surely left me with something real. It left me with joy. It brightens my soul every second I THINK about it.(I could have seriously slept 5-10 more minutes if someone told me I will continue with the plot of that story with Nema that ended in an imaginary photograph). 

Does God know our hearts even when we cover them with “friend" jokes or hide them under busyness? I truly know, He knows what joy, love, and connection mean to us, because He planted those desires in us Himself. So perhaps this dream wasn’t about Nema. Not about Chemo or photographs and embraces. Or even me. Maybe it was about God reminding me that He sees, He knows, and He can surprise me in ways I cannot imagine or write or even dream. That the embrace I yearningly yearn for, the holy trembling I felt in that moment, is a taste of how love is meant to be. Pure love that is not ashamed even of the crowds and all those little, little things.

 P.S. Do dreams predict the future? Maybe they do. Maybe not. BUT all I can say based on my short lived experience is that they do reveal the tenderness of the present. By this I mean, what we wish for, who we miss, who we like and love, and how much we’re capable of feeling. Dreams are never real. Super imaginary but the emotions they have left behind are very real. I highly recommend them. (Not the sad ones though. Tragic!!).

And seriously, seriously, dreams really need to stop playing with my emotions. One minute I’m 'aromantic,' the next minute I am wrapped up in the happiest and warmest embrace, the next I’m staring at my phone wallpaper at 16:33 pm like…... "Oh, it was just a dream? Okay then.”😔😔 

My eyes are getting heavy as I finish this up. It's a bitter- sweet kind of heaviness. Sweet because it promises more stories. More surprises to unfold. More days of liking and if it escalates, more days of loving genuinely. More tears of joy, and maybe, just maybe, enough time for one more epic dream before the alarm clock officially wins as it has always have. Bitter because, you know, it's a dream. JUST A DREAM. 

But all in all, at any given time, my HOME will always be: anywhere with GOD, my heart, my loving grandma and sister, my family, my friends, my bedroom, my mental health, my journal, my Bible, my hymnal, anywhere with milk, Neuroscience, and flowers,💐 my guitar, my..., my...., my...........and so are MY DREAMS MY SWEET HOME even when they won't actualize at all. I don't mind it. 

And here? Here is where my heart pauses. Sleep tight! Wakey wakey! Whatever. After all, you have to wake up.