school days, school days, dear old golden rule days
The dream opened in a classroom brightly lit with those telltale fluorescent lights. There didn’t seem to be an instructor in the front of the room, but either way it mattered little to me. My eyes were completely focused on a series of problems that involved the use of calculus. All were solved except for the mysterious thirteenth exercise, for which I had only half a page of markless blank space.
As the other students began to pack up their books and scurry out of the room, I continued to stare at the thirteenth exercise. How do you do this problem, I muttered to myself. I was so immersed into the problem that I didn’t even notice myself beginning to pack my own
books.
Reality, at least the version of reality in this dream world, must have set in as I turned around to face a fellow classmate. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised to see her, but in the real world, I hadn’t actively spoken to her since the ninth grade, about twelve years ago.
“Yeah, I’ll still be working on these tonight. I guess I’ll let you know or something,” I spoke with a tired stutter, letting out a mild sigh.
“Me too. Maybe I’ll call you or something,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, let me know if you get number thirteen.”
With that, she left, and after I had finished packing my books, I found the classroom eerily empty. Realizing that I was probably late, I walked quickly out of the room, only to find that the hallway was empty as well.
Instead of a large crowd of students, I only saw a stairway leading up as well as what could only be a hall monitor sitting at a desk. The very dimly lit area was a sharp contrast to the blinding white ceiling lights of the classroom.
I felt lost at that moment, so I decided to pull out the thin piece of paper containing a list of my classes.
On the leftmost column listing the names of the classes, I could barely make out the word “LANGUAGE” since the faded print was nearly illegible. Its corresponding entry under the room number column looked like it read “5TRUE.”
Then I noticed the hall monitor was staring at me suspiciously. I took out another square sheet of paper from my bag and gave it to the hall monitor, who promptly signed it.
“You should be in room 563. Just go up the stairs,” the man indicated dutifully as I pointed to what I thought read “5TRUE.”
Perplexed, I strolled awkwardly toward the staircase, gaping at the printed schedule in disbelief. This can’t be room 563, it says 5TRUE!
The hall monitor must have somehow been able to see the look on my face with my back turned towards him, since he answered reassuringly, “Don’t worry, you’ll find it.”
In response, I turned my head and nodded, then jogged quickly up the stairs.
Upon arriving at the second floor, I stopped abruptly in my tracks, once again in a state of shock. A small foyer area with carpet of a burnt sienna color greeted me. My eyes were almost blinded by the yellowish incandescent light, the source of which I could not deduce. It was so bright that I felt as if it were speaking to me.
Glancing towards my left, I noticed that the walls, also of a sienna color but of a lighter shade, framed two sepia doors with the classic rounded copper doorknobs reminiscent of those found in offices and homes built during the 1960′s. I was able to turn the knobs, but the doors wouldn’t open.
“O.K., yeah, whatever,” I shrugged aloud.
At the end of the room was another staircase, also carpeted in sienna, leading in an upward direction. This time, I proceed cautiously. This doesn’t look like a school anymore, I thought to myself.
I found myself standing in a tiled kitchen area. Thanks to the blinding yellow lighting, I could not make out the room in detail. I do remember it being cozy, however, and oddly, the kitchen only had cabinets, a stove, and a sink. The room contained no tables or chairs, and the countertop was completely devoid of cutlery.
After about ten seconds of perusing the area as if my eyes were a movie camera, I sighted another door (same color and style of doorknob of course) towards the left side of the kitchen’s far end. I was able to open this door, and a room full of teachers sitting around an oval table looked at me intently, as if I didn’t belong in the room.
“Um, is this room 563?” I asked nervously.
A female teacher, whose wavy hair and face framed with glasses was very familiar to me, turned her head towards me. “No,” she responded in a stern voice. It bothered me immensely that I could not (and still cannot) match a name to her countenance.
I swiftly exited the room and closed the door. For some reason unbeknowst to me, I said aloud, “Maybe it’s the P.E. meeting.” P.E.? Huh?
As I passed the kitchen area, I realized that I was there for a language class and ran back towards the door. I opened the door, and that unidentifiable teacher once again turned her head towards me.
“Uh, is this the Language meeting?” I implored with as innocent a look as I was able to muster. Meeting?! Why did I say that?, I added to myself as I mentally hit myself on the head.
“No, it is not,” she deadpanned.
I retreated in resignation, this time in a slower fashion. As I headed back down the stairs to the first floor within the dream, I awoke abruptly.
~~~~~
At that moment, the events of the dream flashed through my head as I headed for the bathroom.
That was early Monday morning. To this day, I still wonder what the dream meant. I have always dreamed of unfamiliar places and people. However, this time, the people were familiar. It’s equally interesting that the place was completely unfamiliar (a school that I’ve never seen before), yet the dream was extraordinarily vivid.
I know you are probably all exhausted from reading my lengthy prose (sorry folks), but any interpretations are welcome from all you Xangans out there.. 
, but I think learning Chinese all over again might be a better, more practical idea. 
), the books used for my 
When I was younger, I used to read authors such as Agatha Christie, Stephen King, Michael Crichton, among others. 
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