Every time I climbed that long, prime road, the mountains that surround our town appeared as if it’s close by. I can reach them in my hand, like I can reach the green grass along the roadside, like the little flowers that bend to tickle my legs, like Dandelions flying past, riding the wind.
Unlike the tear and wear all along the road below and beyond, that small road to the top has always been prime through the years, and no one will blow the horn or glare or swear as will start a mere few seconds, even if you bent to the side to fix your shoelaces.
There I can look freely down the long, winding road through the valley. Long grasses dancing, bees and butterflies prancing. In months where the two couldn’t be seen, many, many dragonflies.
And the rest of the horizon where all the lining white halls would turn into speckles, all the way back up to the other side, swallowed by the blue horizon, the green curly line, far far and away.
It’s the land of dream.
In town and everywhere, this peace of heaven would have sold millions after millions. though for some reason, it will then be destroyed for a floor or two, marble tiles, man made garden, surrounded by tall gates with pointy ends, cars, motorcycle, CCTV. So people are mesmerized by its beauty and want to live there in peace, and still end up putting themselves in jail with all the worldly goods, and lost everything, even more.
But Chinese knows it better. Chinese knows that a peace in heaven is a piece of heaven, so they buy a small patch of land there, erect a small hall with four tube pillars, a little curve roof with carving of oriental cloud by the edges.
And there would lie their parents, brothers, sisters, ancestors, and families, who went to Canaan before them.
Their white graves would go small round, like a sofa, a chair, and it’s always have its back to the mountain, overlooking the whole town.
A peaceful place, the land of dream, where those that finishes the good race enjoys a moment of peace, and watch over the living.
This morning, just after dawn, a little ray of sun guide me like small lantern from the heaven.
The stars are still twinkling, though the moon had waned. Along my way, fireflies raising to the sky.
To my left and to my right, the two that came with me lie in silence. They had seen the chaos of the world, they had tasted the bitter fruit of sin, they had drunk from the cup of life, salty and sour.
So now it’s the turn of the sweet. The sweet spring that runs below, hidden from dirty hands of men, streaming downhill to alleviate the suffering of those who can find it.
The sweet wind that carries the whispers of songs that makes the green grass dance and the butterflies and bees prance.
The sweet blue when the mountain meet the horizon, and the sweet curly green line where the birds peeked through from the other world.
There will lie my two companions: Bunny Tail and Courage. One went with me from a cursed park that swallows soul, the other went with me from two giggling teens who meant to sold her soul.
There will lie my two companions: among the little white halls and playing by the restful chairs of those who finish their good race.
Between the footsteps of little foxes, stray dogs and cats, who, although forgotten and discarded, found love and freedom in each other. In the land of forever dream.
They will hop with the rabbits, and listen to the chirps of the birds, they will run through the masses of Dandelions and fly to the sky, chasing butterflies, catching dragonflies.
And when the day is called to end, they will come sit again by the foot of my ancestors and theirs. watching over me.
They will hear my storm and cries, they will hear me laugh, they will wave their head on my Christmas carols.
One day they will hear me sing Auld Lang Syne, waving my hand to those who watch me from below.
And then they will run toward me, and we will run through the rows of little white halls with round pillars, watching over them.
In the land of dream.
In the land of forever dream.