Let me tell you about my greatest fear
a tiny sprout rooted in a childhood dream
that visited me again and again,
until I grew up.

Every time, I wake with it, clear as day:
Mom riding her green 50cc Honda Cub,
a cardboard box tied behind her,
me inside it.

She reaches the bridge,
drops me and the box in the middle of an empty road,
then rides on,
steady, constant, without looking back.

I stand up.
I run after her,
across that endless bridge.
But the distance never changes.
No matter how hard I try,
I can’t catch up.

I keep running
until I wake,
short of breath,
in tears,
scared.
She just leaves me.
Again.
And again.

Not just once.
Not just a dream.

We all have old friends
that show up uninvited,
longing for reunion.
But this dream?
It’s more like a bully,
one that visits
when I feel most insecure,
most alone.

And I don’t like it.
Not at all.

• Initial: May 24, 2025