You are washing your face.
All of a sudden, the scenery around you undergoes a shift.
It’s a place full of water, as if all of the snow that surrounded you until a moment ago suddenly melted. You are standing in cold water, submerged up to your ankles. A pond, like the splash ponds small children play happily in, stretches endlessly around you.
You look confused, but still plod along happily. Even though it seems difficult for you to walk about, you kick up sprays of water, like you’re dancing.
Water is life itself. The body of any living person contains an abundance of water. Water is a necessity for life; that’s why everyone has an instinctive fondness for it.
Anyone sliding in up to their shoulders in the ample hot water of a bath would feel at ease. They would be able to relax.
Your expression melts into a broad smile, as if you’ve become relaxed.
The water all around you is completely translucent — you can see all the way to the bottom. It’s like the shoals on a beach in a southern country, the pretty, jewel-like sand stretching beneath your feet. They draw unique patterns at your feet, like a magnified image of human flesh.
That unblemished moisture seems to embody the very feeling of getting sweaty from playing with a friend, in those youthful days when one’s skin is still moist.
A droplet splashes your cheek, and you wipe it away with the palm of your hand.
A gentle light illuminates you, reflecting off the water’s surface. You are no longer wearing the burial kimono you had been wearing only a short time ago, but are now back in your regular attire. Your hair, which had been undone, is now neatly braided once more and bounces happily as you walk.
You walk through a fantastical scenery. It’s like a fairytale, or the world as seen through the eyes of a happy child.
The water level is low, the water itself clean. It’s as if it’s cleansing your heart as well.
All around you are brittle-looking rock walls that look like they are made out of sugar. A pure-white foundation. You look for a spot low enough for you to climb up onto, and you wriggle your way up, shaking your head to free lingering droplets of water.
You wring out your braids.
Brushing back the bangs framing your face, you gaze about your surroundings.
This rocky surface has a complex structure. Almost like a labyrinth. It’s such a complicated terrain, thinking about walking through it seems so tedious.
It’s like learning. Studying. Human relationships. Helping your parents. A small cold.
All you want to do is keep playing, but so many things tie you down, bind you, inconvenience you.
As you stare blankly at the obstinate structure of the rock wall, at a loss, something tiny hovers next to you. A string. No, a balloon. A string is dangling from a primary-colored balloon that might have been well-loved by a child.
You grab the string, as any child might have done.
In that instant, your feet are lifted gently off the ground.
Your entire body is floating, completely ignoring the laws of physics. You seem a bit confused, but the balloon continues pulling you higher and higher. You’re being given an escape from that troublesome, almost grotesque maze-like structure. You’re being carried away.
As the balloon sways uncertainly, you float higher and higher. Blown about by the wind, it feels weak, but it supports you as long as you don’t let go. It’s not strong enough to say it’s protecting you, not proactive enough to say it’s taking you under its wing.
But in some way, it’s like friendship.
It’s something you can count on, something that has offered you the tiniest bit of relief from your painful lost way.
The balloon deflates, seemingly losing the gas with which it had been inflated. However, as it does, a new balloon appears nearby.
You switch from one balloon to the next. It’s like changing friends as the years go by. Like when your friendship is used up, your affection withered, you part ways with the balloon.
But whenever you reach out a hand, a new balloon will be there.
You cling to it with all your might.
The higher up you go, the colder the air gets. Your breath freezes, turning white. You wheeze, struggling to breathe. The last balloon is fleeting, so tiny it could fit in the palm of your hand, and stalls out, losing its buoyancy.
You begin to wiggle your arms and legs in a panic. You’re so high up that you can’t even see the ground anymore. If you fall, you won’t escape unharmed, even in a dream. You look desperately around you, like a lonely girl seeking someone to love her.
And then you realize. Right next to you is a tiny floating island. In reality, it should be inaccessible to you. It’s at the same height of that troublesome white rock wall. But there’s an open space, and in that space are several objects that look like tents.
You gather your courage, let go of the balloon, and jump down.
Falling from such a great height, you are unable to make a graceful landing, and end up landing on your backside.
It seems like it doesn’t hurt due to this being a dream, as you merely shake your head to shake off the shock, then slowly get to your feet. You’re up so high, the air is thin and very cold. Yet, you’ve actually managed to make it here.
You wring out your wet clothes and fix your hair, as if you’re suddenly aware of your appearance and about to enter a solemn religious institution, such as a temple.
You then lift your eyes to find a giant tent.
You gulp back the saliva in your throat.
The tent is cute and flashy. It’s dazzling, like a child used only their favorite colored crayons on it. It’s practically glistening, like something a precocious little girl might do to show off... You hesitantly approach it.
It looks warm, like the snow huts — but far more extravagant. It gives off a happy vibe, and it seems like something its owner would be proud of, like if they happened to see someone else, they would want to boast about it. You approach with an air of guilt, like the uninvited visitor you are.
And so you quickly take a peek inside the tent.
Then step completely inside.
Inside is even more adorable than one might imagine from the outside. It’s the type of place where a fairytale princess might live, the type of place that could make one happy just by being there. A room full of treasures for a child who has been raised in a loving home.
It’s clearly completely different in tone from the rest of the dream that you’ve been walking through — like it’s the precious internal part of some unseen person, and you’ve inadvertently happened upon it. That’s why you seem so uncomfortable. However, you step forward into the magnificent place with hope in the positivity and love that it overflows with — the positivity and love that you yourself lack.
An expensive-looking carpet stretches across the floor. Delightful paintings of landscapes adorn the walls. There is a soft and fluffy-looking bed. Books that seem like they might depict fanciful adventures or stunning romances are neatly arranged on the desk and the bookshelf. It’s a harmonious and intimate place, the type that could make your heart dance.
You seem entranced for a time, gazing about the room, and then—
Finally, you realize it.
Something has been standing in front of you the whole time without you noticing.
In this little room, with nowhere to run or hide.
That person just accepts it, and—
“Sorry about the mess,” I say, as if talking to a friend who has suddenly dropped by.
As I do, I play with the tuft of hair dangling over my shoulder.
“Uhhm, is there something you need from me?”
In the end, that’s all I can think of to say.
You stand there for a while, without reacting.
However, a muffled sound comes from your mouth, a voice that isn’t really a voice.
Maybe this is your way of asking me:
Who are you?