At 5 am, I woke up from my late sleep last night. My body felt heavy and my mind was spinning. Even if I got out of bed, I couldn’t concentrate on reading or writing, and I knew I would spend the entire day in a dazed and low mood. I closed my eyes, trying to continue the unfinished imaginings from before I fell asleep. It was a romantic story, and I was the protagonist. However, the yellow light from the street lamps and the cars passing by in front of my house disrupted my reverie. Nothing felt romantic or beautiful; instead, a sense of fear slowly enveloped me.

Where was I? What was I doing? What would I do? Where would I go? I had no answers. The bed, the house, the sounds—everything seemed unfamiliar to me. I forced myself to think about the romance in order to overcome the fear, but the fear and romance collided in my mind. In a daze, I drifted into a light sleep.

I found myself walking on the road next to my aunt’s house, which connected the primary school and middle school where I once studied. I spotted a few old teachers, but I felt too shy to greet them, so I turned away and pretended not to see them. An artist famous in my hometown was playing the flute nearby. I picked up the sticks on the table in front of him and tapped on a stainless plate, but I couldn’t catch the rhythm of the flute. Then, out of nowhere, the handsome man from my imaginary story walked beside me. He was dressed in a pristine white suit and jeans, and his bangs were cut and combed up, making him look more mature. On his shoulders sat a girl who was our daughter. We were on our way to visit my aunt. A boy I had a crush on during my teenage years stood at the edge of the road near the school gate, watching me, my handsome husband, and our daughter. I lifted my head and felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

As more cars passed by, the noise grew louder. I had a sense that I was in a dream, but I couldn’t discern where I was lying, as the road where the cars were running resembled the one that connected the primary and middle schools. So, I must be in my hometown, in the remote town in China. But no, the crossroad to the left of our neighborhood flashed in my mind. I realized I wasn’t in China; I was in the US. I wasn’t in my youth; I was middle-aged.

Though my mind yearned for clarity, I didn’t want to let go of my dream and that sweet feeling. I struggled to return to the dream, to the past. However, my son called out to me, wanting to play games. I opened my eyes, and the dream and the feelings faded like a fleeting film, leaving me empty and lost. Just like every awakening dawn and sleepless midnight, as soon as the bright light filled the room and touched me, the fear receded, along with the sweetness.