In Continuum.

A European Dream

I could have been a sailor, could have been a cook
A real-life lover, could have been a book.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.

What makes a dream a dream is the so-called 'blockade' in your brain when you do. When you sleep at night and your brain wanders to dreamy realms filled with fantastical creatures, the imagery reaches a part of your brain and gets blocked there. This part of the brain where the images head to is the part that registers these imaginary as memories or experiences. Without this part of the brain acknowledging the 'happening' of these events, you will wake up in the morning knowing that what you just heard or saw were merely part of a 'dream'. It is to prevent you from wetting your bed, urinating in your underwear late at night because you dreamed of a jaguar chasing after you. Without this blockade, we are going to run for our lives every single time we think about a tiger in your bathroom or a ghostly spirit in the dark corners of your house. I'm not sure if I am making sense, but that is basically how our brains work - in layman language.

But without this blockade, all the dreams are going to be registered and passed into the part of the brain that acknowledges their realism. It's like illegal immigrants trespassing into a country without passports or registries. They will pretend to be real citizens and dwell in the country until somebody catches them. But our brains do not have police to catch these illegal migrants - or dreams - that slipped through. Most of the time, our brains work fine and we block out our dreams just so that we can wake up to a bright beautiful Sunday morning, knowing that it was all a dream. But let's say dreams do slip through, then what is the difference between dreaming it and actually experiencing it, if your brain can no longer tell the difference?

This is the common question my friends have been asking me these days: Whatever happened to your European trip? The truth is - as much as I hate to admit it - money is an issue to everybody these days. It's not the fault of anybody to have inadequate amount of money to go on a three week travel to Europe. After all, Europe is probably the most expensive continent to travel to, unless you are considering Antarctica as a continent too. I'm sure the equipments required to go there is much more expensive.

I could be
Here and now
I would be, I should be
But how?
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.

But whatever it is, without a word, Ahmad pulled out from our little 'dream' with his lack of money these months. It's not like he had a lot of money at hand to begin with in the first place when he agreed to go on this trip with me, and I had my reservations and doubts about his dedication. Don't get me wrong, I know by heart that he wanted to go. But I knew about his financial status back then, and deep inside I knew he wouldn't be able to pay. So with the months that passed, the European dream slowly went down the drain and was forgotten by him and even myself, until my friends inevitably realized my constant presence on the internet.

Throughout my time in the army, I've been telling my friends and myself just how much I wanted to go for this Europe trip. Though they shared the same enthusiasm, none of them had the money to pay for such a trip. Therefore, the excitement of looking through the newspapers was shared by myself and myself only. It was a lonely hunt through the pages, and calling the travel agencies up all by myself, hoping that somebody would tag along on my trip. To be honest, there was a point when I told myself anybody would do, just get me on the damn plane to Europe.

I need and want this trip all the same, as much as I craved for the last day in the army. Furthermore, it was the motivation that drove me through the swamps and the forests, so wouldn't it be a shame if it ends up unfulfilled?

I could have been your pillar, could have been your door
I could have stayed beside you, could have stayed for more.
Could have been your statue, could have been your friend,
A whole long lifetime could have been the end.

But reality is a whole lot different from an ideal. I understand that money is an issue to a lot of people, and that is why I never pressed anybody for it. I do admit to being a rather wealthy person, coming from a rather well off family. But still, going on a trip alone with a tour is such a morbid thing to do, isn't it? It's not that I haven't the courage to do so really, it's the idea of traveling alone and the boredom involved, not the trouble. Never the trouble, really. Troubles only make the trip more memorable, more real, anyway.

Walking along the streets of Orchard today after a sudden afternoon rain, it wasn't difficult to spot signs and booths set up by the Singapore Tourism Board. Just outside of Takashimaya, there is a Visitor's Information Booth where tourists can go to for informations on where to go for fun, games and entertainment. Even at bus stops, there is a mounted LCD screen spilling our propaganda messages about just how fun it is to be a tourist in Singapore. "In Singapore, there is much to do!" the woman shouted in the television commercial, then turning around to admire the sky line of the lion city. To me, the LCD monitors, the speakers along the streets, the advertisements hanging from lamp posts, all felt like part of this utopian city mentioned in George Orwell's 1984. Besides, with the recent increase in the president's salary to 3.1 million dollars per year, it is not hard to imagine one day the president standing on top of a stage and asking everybody to call him "The Big Brother".

I could be yours so true
I would be, I should be through and through
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.

Anyway, strangely enough, all the tourism advertisements were begging for people to travel to Singapore, while there I was wanting to get out of it. I started imagining myself by in Switzerland, admiring the Alps while drinking from a glass of warm milk. Or strolling through the streets of Rome with the Coliseum as the background. Or even Big Ben's toll from across the river as I strike a pose with a local. Who knows? At that moment in time while sitting at the bus stop, I could've been anywhere, living the European dream.But that is not the case. Not the case at all.

Late at night when I am bored, with a click of the mouse I travel to every corner of the world. I've been to the plains of Namibia and the deserts of Dubai. I've been to the icy wasteland of Antarctica and the busy streets of London. In truth, I've been around the world eighty times or even more, simply because of the amazing program called Google Earth. I satisfy my hunger now and then with the program, searching for famous landmarks and then zooming in on the tourists and the cars, imaging myself to be one of those black dots and colorful boxes. Because at four thousand feet from the ground, that is the closest I'd ever get - for now - to my European dream, and a delayed one at that.

I could have been a whistle, could have been a flute
A real live giver, could have been a boot.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.

But I figured, what is with all the disappointment? I am twenty-one years old and my adulthood has only just started. It's not like Europe is going to run away in December or anything, because it is always going to be there. Global Warming is an issue sure, but I'm sure the rising ocean level is not going to devour the whole of Europe anytime soon. Europe will be waiting, and in the mean time I shall satisfy myself with the images on Google Earth.

Even if at night, while lying in my bed, I wish dearly that the European dream will slip through the blockade and into the registry booth in my brain. Perhaps when I wake up in the morning, I might just get the feeling that I've already been to Europe and back. Like I said, what is the difference between a dream and reality if all imagery conjured by the brain slips through to become a memory? Be wet and slippery my dear European dream. Slip through, please slip through.

I could be even here
I would be, I should be so near
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.