Theraputic Pillows Bring Back Elementary Traumas

Back in April at the Pilipino Alumni Association dinner I had won a silent auction for a free massage and therapeutic pillow at a chiropractor's office in Laguna Hills. I finally cashed in the offer this past Friday, driving one hour from Westwood to Laguna Hills for my appointment. Although the drive to and from the chiropractor's added more stress than the massage in relieving it, the pillow was worth the drive. I'm definitely sleeping better with the pillow; almost TOO well. Now all I want to do is sleep.

When you sleep more deeply, you are more likely to remember your dreams, which I have for the past two nights. The self-analyst part of me loves picking at my own psyche, discovering my own internal motivations. But my emotional side is the total opposite, having to confront unresolved emotions. Such was this morning.

I was dreaming that I was back in elementary school. It was recess and I was shooting the basketball around by myself. But for the life of me, I couldn't make one single shot. I couldn't even make layups; I always ended up under the hoop at some awkward angle. As I played, there were some kids playing kickball, while some others were playing basketball full-court. What was funny was that all the balls everyone was playing with had "Bautista" written in permanent marker on them. As I kept missing, I asked other kids for some advice or help, but none responded. And as the kids played, the balls got flatter. My basketball, too, became flat to the point that you couldn't even dribble. I then woke up.

The dream had left me sad. I remember I would bring all sorts of things to school for my classmates to play with: basketballs, pen sets, toys. While some of the kids were nice, there were always a few that didn't have respect for the stuff I brought. Pens got lost, toys got broken. In particular, I remember one time when my basketball interfered with the 6th grade kickball game once too many times, and the kid just took it and booted it over the fence and into the street. All I wanted was a little courtesy and a little respect, but I never felt like I could even get that minimum.

Yeah, maybe kids are just mean and I should just leave it at that, but looking in retrospect, I realize that I was more reluctant to share with people after that. It wasn't worth it. Why the hell should I share things that were important to me if people were just going to shit all over it? No, everything I do and had was for my enjoyment alone, and I wasn't going to pimp myself or my things to anyone else.

It's funny that all this stuff comes up now, but with the public reading less than two weeks away, I'm feeling a little exposed. I'm wondering how people are going to react to a piece of writing that means more to me than anything I've done. And having yet to find any confirmed readers, I'm scared shitless that I'm not even going to have a chance to fail, that I'm just going to look like a fool who couldn't even sell his story to the actors themselves.

God... emotions are a bitch.