I once had a dream that may remain with me for the rest of my life. My father and I were sitting side by side on a bench in an airport. I did not know which airport it was, but without a doubt it was one. My father was a passenger and I was seeing him off. While we were waiting, he turned to me and said, “Do you have anything to eat? I’m a little bit hungry.” I looked into my bag, and took out a pineapple cake, “Papa, do you know that most of the pineapple cakes were made of white gourds when I was little? I read this in an article not long ago,” I said. My father replied, “Oh, Is that right?” He said it Peacefully. Then, it seemed that he heard something. He said to me, “This is me.”
Next thing I heard was my cell phone ringing. I woke up from the dream and realized that it was possibly not a pleasant call this late at night. It was my younger brother calling me on the phone, telling me that our father passed away about an hour before in his bedroom. I hurried out with my coat on and jumped in a taxi on the dark street. During my ride to his apartment, I couldn’t help thinking about that dream over and over again. Although a dream may not be a big deal, that one means a lot to me. I still recall warmly the moment I woke up from that dream.
