My 2026 Mindoro Vespa Escapade!

This year’s GYEON Vespa Pilipinas Tourism Rally was truly one classic escapade!

On the day of the departure for Mindoro, I was really early because I wanted to be sure to get there on time. Waited a few hours at the launch point. This was the maiden long voyage for “Imam” my all-stock black LX-150 2v. I just restored her about a year ago. Waiting for the take off to the port, I had great time meeting Jojo, a veteran rider and drone meister. He enlightened me with his years of riding experience. His drone shots were simply amazing too.

The RORO was waiting; we loaded quickly and we casted off our lines. At that point I could feel the excitement building up. All the rally participants were raring to go. The sea was cool and calm. It was nice to have fresh sea air before the ride. After landing at Abra de Ilog, we proceeded to the first stop for lunch at the NGV Farms, a sprawling glamping resort cum quasi golf course. The place was majestic, surrounded by hills. The host, Mr. Nestor Venturina was kind enough to serve us with that refreshingly scrumptious tender beef stew lunch pack. A kind resort staff helped get access to a socket to charge my phones. Because of the relaxing vibe, I fell asleep on a lounge chair while charging my phone. I woke up and only a few Bulacan riders were left. Ended up riding with them to Mambuarao.

We got to Mamburao for registration. Far from chaotic, the Tourism staff welcomed me with their beautiful smiles and made sure I was equipped and knew how to get to my assigned hotel. Too bad I didn’t get a kit. Rested after checking in Isla Del Oro hotel, a rustic establishment with wide widows in the rooms, capturing the cool island breeze. A welcome merienda pancit pack was served upon arrival. After a few hours, I headed to the dinner the atmosphere was festive at the Capitol. The sponsors already had their merchandise on display. The food was overflowing and filling too. Took another rest at the hotel and after topping up on my gas, just as scheduled, the ride was on. After last minute reminders, the Vespistis, almost 300 strong took off around midnight, Feb. 7, 2026.

Imam was all good to go. Into 80 kilometers I noticed all the emergency and police personnel strategically positioned on the route to San Jose. In the whole route I took the roads were free, wide and bright and most of all clear. There were hardly any potholes road obstructions and hazards like stray animals. Those solar posts illuminated most of the way. I heard it costs about PhP 28,000 each. Truly, a good safety investment if you ask me. To say Mindoro was a safe place to ride in would be an understatement. Totally safe. After fueling up a second time en route to the San Jose, we had about 80km to go to the checkpoint. At a stop, I noticed the smell of gas and saw my scoot Imam was leaking. I thought it was just over flow. My fuel then drained quick. I chanced upon a rider to ask directions. He stopped ad pointed to a strong gas leak. I noticed I was almost running on empty barely an hour after refueling.

Turns out, these guys from Binondo Wasps turned out to be my saviors. Armed to the teeth with tools and know how. Dan (GTV300) & Mike (PX 150) helped patch me up and we went together from there. We stopped at a 7-11 to grab a snack as riders passed us. Little did we know that wee missed the first checkpoint after an hour en route to Roxas. We turned back. Mike was looking or a pair of glasses. We learned that the San Jose checkpoint was already closed by that time and despite all efforts scanning the area we passed Mike’s glasses we gone as well.

Going to Roxas, Mike went ahead. Dan took point. About an hour before Roxas I was giving in. The body of half a century plus change was not what it used to be. It reminded me of how it was at the tail end of the last rally, somewhere by Subic where I almost overshot to a cliff edge. Dan was feeling tired as well. We stopped at a road side house where a Manang not only let us rest at her porch but also offered some coffee and let me use her phone charger complete strangers welcomed by a very cheerful and accommodating old lady. As a seasoned and experienced rider (with PNP-TMG rider training and certification), Dan suggested to take a break, rest up in a hotel nearby. I totally agreed. It would be not only be the most logical but also the safest option. We inquired for hotels at the nearest PNP station, a rider cop even escorted us to a nearby hotel but was closed due to power failure. I mean these locals have initiative in serving tourist in their area. We ended up in Ace hotel in Roxas. the owner was a kind Mason that gave us a great rate and entertained us. He says he met many of our kind of riders in the past. He even mentioned that I looked very much like a BOSS rider he knew. We slept a few hours. That was the deepest sleep I had in a while. By 5pm, we checked out, a quick coffee and got our motors running back to Mamburao. We stopped at that same 7-11 going to Roxas chatted up some locals about the ride and then rain started. This is where it gets hairy. We suited up after a drink. My rain gear tore up after a few minutes on the road because it was that old and already decomposing. I was getting sleepy again but this time due to the cold. the slight drizzle never became a total downpour but it was cold, the wind chill made my hand freeze even with gloves on like a frost bite sensation. Imam was holding her own. No mechanical issues the whole time. We loaded up on fuel somewhere by the time we were in Bulalacao, after the BUCOR bypass that we did not pass going to Roxas, my fuel was getting danger close. About an hour to go to hit Mamburao there was no open fuel station in sight. My warning lights were blinking brighter and brighter. We chanced in a roadside store that was like a 7-11 sar-sari store. The owner offered a liter of gas that he siphoned from his bike himself and refused payment. I insisted and he bid us a safe journey.

After eight hours we landed at midnight back in Mamburao. said goodbye to Dan and thanked him for being a great, generous and kind tandem. Crashed on my bed. Still freezing, I just opened the room windows and let the fresh cool air in again. No dinner. Woke up to a ghost town. Only a pair of riders from Taytay remained at the hotel. Chatted with the Taytay couple over breakfast and found out more of what happened on rally day. Though it was unfortunate that I did not finish the rally. Then again, we found that the tour was cancelled due to inclement weather. The next day I saw on the news that the shearline caused massive flooding in Puerto Galera and Abra de Ilog. That was a good call by the organizers. Safety is paramount. It was also a good call for Dan and I not to push it. That would have been catastrophic. This event is memorable because it showed a true community. From the locals that infected us with their welcoming smile at the capitol, the hotel and on the road, the Vespa Pilipinas organizers that were effective in managing the event to the generous sponsors, Mr. Venturina, our gracious lunch host to the provincial government and all the rally participants.

Yes, I did not finish. but man, this rally was surely “one for the books”. One hell of a of a 600 km ride! As I sailed back, I look behind the port where we landed. It was a bit sad for this adventure to end. As I turn to the fore, I smile. Going home is not so bad because it means another escapade is waiting. I will definitely come back to Mindoro and soon. Again, on my Vespa. Much thanks to the organizers-Vespa Pilipinas, our sponsors, the Provincial Government together the wonderful people of Mindoro, Dan & Mike of Binondo Wasps and the entire Vespa community! Looking forward to the next high-octane, action-packed Vespa Days in Baguio come May with my Italian babe -“Sophia”, my PX! Ride strong, proud and SAFE! Martin

Farewell Baby Sister

One July day in 1975, a 6 year old boy was woken up by his mother. The mother gently said “Wake up, look at your new baby sister….”. The boy saw his younger, 4 year old brother already playing with the baby as it cooed. It was such a memorable day. That boy was me. That infant was Fatima, my new baby sister.

At 36, my mother became diabetic when pregnant with my brother. She could not have any more children. At the time we welcomed Fatima, I kinda figured out that she was adopted. Still, it did not matter, for we all loved her. She knew that. Growing up, we would shower her with kisses, hugs and gifts. Yes, she was spoiled. Fatima was also very loving. She cared for my mother when she fell ill, all by herself. Years passed and during adolescence she became rebellious. At such a young age, she had problems at school, became a wild child and eventually, she ran away from home, with child. That was the time that when our family was broken hearted. Our little angel left us, just like that. It was hard. In 1974, my Godmother had a household helper that became pregnant. I think my mom was visiting her when she told her about it. She thinks a cop was the father. My Godmother Pilar, asked the helper what she wanted to do with and she was thinking of an abortion. My mother without any hesitation, stepped in and asked if she could take the baby even while still in the womb, not knowing if it was a boy or girl and anything else about the biological parents. My mother would often tell me about my how my grandmother repeatedly saying to her that when the time comes and she has children of her own and someone close to her offers a child for adoption, to take it. The child is a gift from God and it brings good luck to the family. My Grandmother uneducated herself, was right.

When Fatima left us, my mother while, devastated confirmed that she was not her own child and eventually told us why she did it. Years passed and Fatima came back. She brought an angel with her that brightened up our home with love. Her firstborn Samantha made the last years of my mother simply “magical”. She was also my father’s bundle of joy. For me, she was the closest thing to a daughter I ever had. After my mother’s passing, Fatima settled in Palawan and had more children. She may not have finished school but she knew some things about family. All her children and grandchildren loved her immensely, despite her imperfections. My baby sister had high blood pressure. While in bed, she suffered a stroke and was already stiff when she was found by her kids. Fatima was 50 years old. I wish things could have been different. Though I am sure that she knew that we all loved her. Each night, as I light a candle and toast to her life, I pray that she may rest, peacefully. Fly to the angels baby sister. Farewell.

Farewell Old Friend

Yesterday afternoon, as I was braving the rains enroute to Sta. Rosa, Laguna to my friend's wake I encountered flooding of a different kind. With a big size pancit palabok platter in tow, I drove.

Like the wet roads leading me to the cemetery, my mind was drenched only with memories. It was an uncontrollable kind of flood, the kind that brings joy and at the end, sadness. I mostly hung out with Harvey Baybay as a High School sophomore and senior. Classmates during the former and just going all over the place even if we came from different classesin the latter. As I drove, it all came back, it was not in trickles. It also did not help that I was playing the old school funk in my LSGH ’87 playlist.

Vividly, I recall how one time Harvey and I we got lost in Ateneo looking for an LSGH-ADMU soccer game. In full LSGH uniform, we ended up in a wrong field where ADMU upper classmen were having soccer intramurals. We asked for directions and the guys were polite enough to direct us to the correct field until we turned our backs and they started heckling us. Now it was just Harvey and I. Instinctively I turned around and as I was about to tell them to go screw themselves, Harvey then dragged me back to the car. Now I am sure we did not stand a chance against about sixty Ateneans anyway. Harvey saved our asses. We could have been killed in the mid-80's.

In our senior year we would jam with the likes of Inaki Jose, Raffy Intac and a bunch of other lady friends from St. Scho on weekends- lifelong friends we made with them St Scho. friends. In true La Salle style, we rolled around everywhere from the Polo Club, all over Greenhills, Makati, Sir William's Apartelle to the Silahis Hotel to club at Stargazer. Each time we rode in a tricked out Manta, Escort, Porsche or a top down Benzo. When we had house parties at Harvey’s our classmates would even pose at his garage for pics with the cars. Life happened. Harvey went abroad for school. Got his masters at back here. His future was bright.

He just knew how to dial it down with them. We even went to UP after class because he was going for a college chick, way much older and mature than us high schoolers. We even crashed a bunch of college parties. Harvey was a cool, suave & confident guy. One weekend, Harvey kidnapped me and drove up to their ancestral house in hometown in Cabuyao. I realized it was also raining hard then, just like this day. The Baybay clan graciously hosted us to food and drinks. Despite the hard rain we were happy. In the now, as I trek into Sta. Rosa, I feel sadness. The raindrops were like gushing tears from heaven. I could go on and on. I did not see Harvey much until way after college. The last time I visited him was in our 25th year at his house where I got trashed and spent the night. It was good that I also got to hang out with the crew he rolled with. He also had his dark years. The substance got its way with him. Despite his hard times, Harvey maintained that dignified air with his matching flair. It was fortunate to learn that years later Harvey recovered. He again became a fixture at our reunions. As I arrived at the wake, I only wish that as when we were young, more memories were made. The pancit palabok I brought was merely a simple token for everything Harvey shared with me. Farewell, my old friend Harvey. Thank you for all the good times.

“Fly to the Angels Heaven awaits your heart Flowers will bloom in your name You've got to fly (fly high) Fly to the angels All the stars in the night Shine in your name…” - “Fly to the Angels”, Slaughter, 1990

A Homeless Experience

A couple of weeks ago, some illegal settlers in my community were evicted.  Everything was in order. Court orders, police escorts present, professional demo crews on hand. 

As it turns out, the settlers occupied the land for about five decades.  No rent or taxes paid.  If I owned the property I would be really angry at the situation.

The people knew what was going to happen. They were warned years ago.  They never took it seriously.  About eight hundred families in a single hectare ghetto area evicted, just like that. 

Now Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is real.  Ask any war veteran when they hear sudden gunfire or a burn victim when they see a fireworks display.   

In my own experience, losing a home in that way is painful.   I empathized with the people thrown on the street, in panic, suddenly losing the place they grew up in one fell swoop.  I knew how they felt.  With all the commotion, it's all coming back to me. 

Seeing people spend the night in a crowded, mosquito rich street while their old home is being destroyed by day was downright appalling.  They only had their little valuables with them - small appliances, some clothes.  

It broke my heart.  Memories flood back.  Tears wanted to roll down, again. 

A couple decades past, I lost my place of residence.  One fine day, I received a notice to get out, peacefully.  There was no choice, it was my father's old quarters in a military base.  Even my father ordered me to do the same.  At that younger age, it was shocking and more so challenging.  

Resistance was futile, a lot of guys in camouflage with guns were there, with the cops.  I had a week to round things up and find a place to stay.  Lost a lot stuff. Spent a lot of money.  Saw so much pain and anguish all over.  Along with other people I knew going through the same thing.

That was just the start of my world crumbling down.

Back to where I now live, in the first few nights, I would send some bread, insect repellant, water or a round of drinks for the guys.  They needed drinks to get some sleep - on the cold, damp and dirty street.

Closer to the end of the demolition period, I decided to cook up some noodles and eggs for the remaining displaced families.  With help of my crew, we prepped food for about a hundred.  Friends and neighbors helped out by donating food and cash.  My crew even worked for free.

That night, we sent the food in batches.  The workers that delivered the donations reported how happy the victims were for the unexpected food donation.  They even asked if there was a chef preparing the meals.   It was just me, my special sauces and my heartfelt concern for those that lost everything in a day, like I did, eons ago. We topped the night off by delivering drinking water and distributing lit mosquito coils to make their night more "bearable".  Some neighbors did the same the next day.

I knew that this is just the beginning of a long bittersweet process for the victims.

Things will worsen before it gets any better.   After losing a residence in such circumstances, eventually find a new home will come with strains on finances and emotions.  Then, after the initial trauma, grieving sets in.  Losing a home like that feels that a part of you was "demolished" as well.  The pain is harsh but then again there is no choice.  This is part of moving on.  Time will heal.  

Life must go on.

With what just happened, a lot of thoughts made its way back from those "challenging" times.  Here are just some things I learned: 

1. In your darkest hour, some of those closest to you will not be there for you.  That's life.  Some just won't care for you even when you are down. 
2. You will overstay your welcome in a temporary home sooner than you think. No matter how sincere, your hosts will want you out of their home after a few days.  Relatives or friends. Same thing. Breakfast is tensions filled.  Dinners are quiet.  The "air" smells like resentment.  Your food and bathroom habits will be the subject to their disgust and contention.  Just like that, a person that was once so dear to me lost "the mask" being worn.  All those years, all the kind acts was all a show.  That person was keeping score of it all.  What a scumbag.  Broke contact since. 
3. Most of the sentimental stuff hoarded and gaining dusts at your home will be lost or stolen in such situations.  Those shoes unworn since college, old pieces of China, broken lampshades, scratched up vinyl records, scrap pictures, obsolete or broken furniture or appliances are useless.  Keep stuff that has utility. Minimalize.  
4. People at your office will not care. In my office job at the time, an officemate lost his entire home due to a flash flood.  It was in the news and despite the situation, the President ever so insensitive berated him in front of everyone at the office for showing up late and under dressed to work that Monday.  That guy lost everything.  The President was not fully aware of the situation.  Yet, he kept on bawling people out.  That was a cheap shot.  Looking back, I'm glad I chose to suffer in silence at the office when I became homeless. 
5. No land title, not yours.  You can stay in a place for eons but without the proper paperwork and paid taxes, you can lose your home in a heartbeat.  You can now better understand why legit homeowners are willing to fight to the death for their homes at the mere hint of losing them.

In those trying times, there are other hurtful things I endured.  I lost way more than just a house and material possessions.  My heart was broken many times long after.  I would not wish that on anyone.   

Never again will I want that to happen in my lifetime, never - in Latin, "Nunquam Iterum".  

Now here are just some of the silver linings I witnessed while in crisis:

1. 
   Some people will be there for you, no matter what. Someone did take me in.  I just left before anything could happen.  Some relatives helped me. Sincerely. It is true, that when the shit hits the fan, some do stay but others just run.
2. Things happen for a reason.  That place I grew up was flooded after just two years.  The damage was great to such a an old structure.  In more than twenty five years of being there, it never happened, the area being on higher ground.  It would have been a double whammy for me to have the house destroyed by flood and get evicted.
3. Keep the faith.  In the darkest of night, a single flame goes a long way. Things will work out by His grace.  Indeed, there is a God with angels helping us in our lowest of the low points. 

Where I now live is an old apartment built by my grandfather in the mid-sixties.  Just a month after being homeless and living couch to couch, the tenant of almost thirty years, vacated the property.  After another month or so of repairs, my relatives told me I could occupy the place for free.  A few years later my father obtained ownership of the place.  He could have gotten another one in the area or even just next door.  That would have meant even more expenses if I moved there but no, he got the place where I was and immediately gave it to me.  It was only then that I started to make home improvements to "jazz up" the crib.   

It is in this place that I will spend my last days.  It has been almost two decades since I moved in.  Ever so grateful, as I wake daily, I give thanks for the "roof over my head'.  

The people displaced in the demolition will somehow manage. It is just such a harrowing experience to endure for anyone.  

So many things I still miss in that place where I spent most of my adolescent and adult life - my childhood friends, the convenience, peace and quiet. 

Sometimes, I still just wanna go home.

Back to the USA!

I first went to the United States in 1996.  It was such a memorable experience starting from my visa denial and eventual approval.  The whirlwind East to West to wherever.  I saw shows on Broadway, shopped, experienced the way of life in the "land of milk and honey".  In my last trip, I remember an American airport worker call me "young man" in one of my airport stops.  Now, pushing fifty (50), I am far from being young.

That was more than two (2) decades past.  Times have changed.

An uncle has been inviting me to visit him, some relatives I have not seen since the last time I was there, some have already gone to the great beyond. 

I finally decided to go.  My tickets are booked. I saddle up to go in a couple of weeks for a month long holiday.

Strange as it may sound, I am really not looking forward to  my upcoming trip. I am actually a bit apprehensive.

In my first visit, I was so excited.  America was unreal to me.  It was like I was going on a set of a US TV series.  I imagined that the girls would be smoking hot, booze would flow, I would party like it was 1999.  In a day or so after walking the streets of San Francisco, getting lost in a place called "Tenderloin", the novelty of the place soon waned.

I visited friends and family.  Most were gracious hosts.  Some were gracious for a while.  Living in the US was no "walk in the park" for many of my compatriots. I learned that an invitation to visit friends and family in the US could be just something they say to be polite during social occasions.  Life there is hard.  They don't have much time to "chill" with guests.

When I wast in New York, I felt really poor while staying in my hosts's upscale place in the city.  It was just a week but let's just say the verbal abuse I received from my then friend made me never to want to stay in New York, ever again.  I also had a cousin that was so nice to me, she let me see the "Phantom of the Opera" live in Broadway.  Years later, my father before his death, told me what a burden I was to that cousin of mine while that time I was with her.  

I also recall walking in Manhattan, out of limos passengers dressed to the nines, just like out of a GQ magazine cover.  I had the elan' of a being in down jacket, thermal underwear and a laid shirt.  I just found out what a down jacket in that trip. 

I guess in my last travel to the US, I got culture shocked.  My expectations were off the mark, like a "Neverland" scenario.  People were different, even my countrymen.  Things were expensive.  Time passed quickly.  Reality set in, in the cold streets of New York, in Ohio and San Francisco.

The trip was not all that bad. I went to San Diego, crossed to Tijuana. I still met up with genuine friends and relatives.  I could see their sincerity in welcoming me for such a short stay. 

My upcoming trip could be my last.  My body isn't as capable as it was in my younger years
The good thing going for my visit is that I won't going around much. Shopping, even partying isn't high on my menu.  I just hope to chill.  I hope to connect with friends and family, one last time.  No expectations are set on this voyage.  I guess turning almost half a century made manage the very little expectations I may have about my vacation.  Definitely, this trip will be much better,meaningful and truly memorable.

There are still a few things I still need to tick on my Bucket List. I hope to accomplish more items on my lists in this journey.    Vegas, here I come!

The Last Decade

it has been a while since my last post....seemed like a decade!

One day I woke up realizing that it has been a decade since a major turning point in my life.

Ten years ago I got evicted from a house I did not own but lived in for most of my life. It sparked an emotional roller coaster for the years to follow.  

You may think that such event was trivial. So I got kicked out of a house.  So what right?   Well, aside from the sentimentality, the emotional attachment to the house, the community, the stress and being homeless, several events stemmed from that "eviction". Pivotal moments came  that impacted my present being.

So much has since that summer day in 2006. The King of Pop and the Purple Prince are gone.  Babies were born. Some moved  on (like my father) to the Great beyond.  Friends settled down, some got out of marriages. New friends were made, some came and went like bus boys in a restaurant. Blessings, trials, opportunities, failures and realizations just popped in.  I was unhappy at the office but had to work for my keep.  

The last decade was mired with life changing episodes.  Some highlights are:

• I manned up by quitting hiding behind a bottle. Been dry as a dessert for seven (7) years to date.  Despite being "dry" I have had the best parties in my life in the last few years. I remember what happened too!
• I got injured,  went under the knife seven (7) times for minor procedures, including a "nose" job (septoplasty).
• After my stint, I did the "jump" from the corporate jungle to a semi entrepreneur environment. I bowed out of the rat race only to be in a more progressive race - personal investments.  Years ago I made that hard decision. I was afraid. I still am.  No regrets.
• Business and other opportunities just came in knocking from nowhere, at the most unlikely of times
• I lost some people like a second mother and walked away from those I considered close "friends", they revealed their true colors. I let them go a long time ago.  
• Some people broke the "sacred" trust I bestowed them. They are jettisoned as well from my being.
• I almost fell for people I could never have, again.  Maybe I will finally learn not to get into this situation again.
• At times by being somewhere I should not have been, I got crucified for by people I thought were tried and true.
• In 2012 I almost died of pneumonia. Had I not gone to the hospital, I would have been gone in about six hours.  That changed the way I look at death.  I could have gone easily with no fanfare whatsoever. 
• I learned many things about myself.  I wrote blogs, poetry, sang songs even "cut an album".

Those were just some of the highlights without getting the reader bored.

I used to dwell a lot on the past and get depressed. I sometimes still do. But instead of regret I now look more at the past blessings. Lessons if you will that at the particular time was like a curse that turned out to at least make me.stronger and dare I say wiser.

The upside to all the brouhaha - being homeless, evicted, making a "leap" from the office is that in my darkest hours, my true friends revealed themselves. Like a flicker of light in a dark room, it was easy to make them out even with just a bit of lume.. Some that I thought cared for me betrayed me with such fervor. Some lied, even cheated. Some that I loved never did love me back and were keeping score of their "kindness and generosity" they extended. It was all a painful lie. It hurt so much.  Still does at times but now far more manageable.  I have accepted a lot of things.

I still miss my old home. Been back a few times. 

I learned so much from my experiences. Instead of complaining about a lot of things I now more often give thanks for many things.  To name a few:. 

• After the being homeless, living couch to couch episode, I am grateful for the roof over.my head. I live in an old apartment. Very decent but in no way posh. Relatively safe and accessible. 
• I never went hungry. I always had food a shirt on my back.  
• Though the numbers dwindled the quality of my friends have far increased. The true ones are all that matters. I never married and had my own family.  Some old friends consider me part of their families, sincerely.
• I wrote lists - To Do, Bucket, Happiest Moments and Blessings.  I update them all the time

Ten years. At times it felt that my soul was practically burned at the stake. There were times when I was on top of the world.  The roller coaster ride continues.  Will I make it to another after this writing? Life goes on, the bus wheels keep running.  Who knows what tomorrow brings?

As I age. As I near the end than the beginning I am grateful for ALL the experiences I have had in my life.  I look forward to the next decade pushing the half century mark.

The future is bright and I gotta wear them shades.  Anything happens..... ...all the time.

Akira Kurososawa Moment

I woke up from a very strange dream.  Actually bizarre is how I would describe it.

I was dressed to my usual Mafioso nines.  The Mafiosi black coat, tie, shirt and shoes is my trademark for formal occasions.  I was in some event in a hotel ballroom.  The venue was full but I did not recognize any faces.  I casually walk past them to the stage with the curtains still drawn down.

I climb the stage, go under the curtains and in there was a sound technician in a fedora hat and a formal suit as well.  He was tweaking some control board.  I stayed with him, looked at what he was doing.  He repeatedly asked me “Sir, are you ready”?  It seemed liked I was being primed for some performance. 

A very classy lady, older than I broke the curtains and asked for some music to be played.  Something “happy” was what she asked for, with a very happy smile.  The technician agreed and she left.

After some time the curtains opened and there I was.  The audience was a mere crowd of about 20.  There could have been more.  They all raised their glasses and cheered me.  The were raising their glasses to congratulate me.  I was happy.  I came down from the stage and posed for photographs with the crowd.  They had no faces.  I left the ballroom.

As I passed in the lobby, I saw some relatives and friends in various parts of the hotel - at the cafe', at the bar.  Those that I came across kept congratulating me.  I was smiling but had a feeling of what was happening.

It was my wedding reception.

As I passed the lobby I felt I was going to my hotel room.  Suddenly this fear was growing in me.  Where was my bride?  The other question was WHO was my bride?  I began to sweat.  Anxiety was building up.  I make my way to the rooms on stairs…..

I woke.  The room was darker than usual for day.  The skies were gray because of the passing storm. It was colder than usual.  Unaware of the time, I realized it was past lunch on a Saturday.

I still lay in bed looking at the ceiling.  Wondering what was real. My hands felt sweaty.  It seemed so real.  Bizarre.

Dreams are said to be representative of one’s subconscious.  They are what they are.  Could be a summary of experiences. A flashback.  Could forebode something.  It could also be a just a dream.

I lay there staring at the ceiling after realizing what I had woken up to.  Details were still fresh.  The feeling was there.  I still try to ascertain which was real-me on the bed or the hotel thing?  I just had an Akira Kurososawa like moment......

Before I rise, I ask myself, what are dreams made of?  

As I write this, mushy music plays in harmony with the dark skies and falling rain.  I ask myself again what are dreams made of?