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Oras ng Gising sa Umaga

28 Oct

Nang magising ako ng 1:28 ng madaling araw at nakatulog muli ay nanaginip ako. Sa aking panaginip ay kasama ko raw sa bahay ang Nanay ko. Habang siya ay gumagawa ng banig sa sala ay narinig ko ang boses niya at nagsabing “Alas 6 na ng umaga.” Napabalikwas ako ng bangon nang makita sa munting orasan sa sala na totoo nga na alas 6 na ng umaga. Nagtungo agad ako sa kusina namin para mag-almusal. Nakita ko na may nakasalang sa lutuan na ang panggatong ay kahoy na nagbabaga na uling nito. Kitang kita ko na umuusok yung maliit na kaserola na kung saan lumalabas ng usok nito sa butas ng takip nito dahil wala ng hawakan yung takip nito. Kumuha ako ng tinidor na usli ang isang daliri nito sa isang lalagyanan malapit sa lababo.
Dahan dahan kong binuksan ang takip ng kaserola gamit ang daliri ng tinidor dahil mainit ito. Nakita ko na may sabaw yung niluluto na may kamatis na ang amoy at itsura nito ay parang sabaw ng isda pero hindi ko makita ang lamang nito dahil sa lapot ng sabaw. Ibinalik at isinara ko na ang takip nito. Pagkatapos, naisip ko na gusto ko na magtimpla ng kape. Inisip ko na magtimpla ako ng kape at timplahan ko na rin ng kape si Nanay na nasa sala.

Naputol ang panaginip ko ng magiging na ako ng 2:10 ng umaga. Naalala ko tuloy yung nakagawian noong bata pa ako na ginigising ako ng maaga ng Nanay ko bago sumikat ang araw. Napag-isip isip ko na ang 1:28 ng umaga ay maiuugnay ko sa January 28 na kamatayan ni Nanay at ang 2:10 ay maiuugnay ko rin sa February 10 na kapanganakan ni Tatay.

Podcast Episode: White Trash Bags

14 Oct

Old mother watching son collect white trash bags

Pip: Dreams are a rich inner life, or at least that’s what we tell ourselves at three in the morning when the ceiling clock is staring back at us.

Mara: This episode covers a dream journal entry from masmeron — a vivid nighttime scene involving a cart, some white plastic bags, and a few surprising finds inside them. Let’s start with what was in the cart.

White Trash Bags

Pip: The setup here is classic dream logic — a large cart parked on a deserted roadside, piled high with crumpled white plastic bags, and the dreamer climbing up to dig through them while Nanay waits below.

Mara: The post describes exactly what the search turns up, and it’s not what you’d expect from a pile of trash bags: “Nakita ko na maraming mga puting plastics. Kinakalkal ko daw ito pero wala along makitang totoong basura sa loob ng plastic dahil wala itong mga lamang.”

Pip: So the bags look like garbage but contain nothing — until they contain everything. That’s the tension the dream is actually running on: the thing that looks discarded turns out to be worth bringing home.

Mara: And the contents keep escalating. First there are two closed wallets and assorted household items. Then, once back home and unpacking one bag at a time, three small brooms appear — walis tambo, each a different size, folded up like closed umbrellas.

Pip: Three miniature brooms in descending sizes, nested inside a trash bag on an ownerless cart. The dream’s interior decorator has a very specific vision.

Mara: What strikes me is the care in the unpacking. The post lingers on the detail of opening each broom because they were folded, and on the pleasure of the variety in their sizes. The joy isn’t in finding something valuable — it’s in finding something small and well-made and surprising.

Pip: There’s also Nanay anchoring the whole thing. She stays on the ground while the dreamer climbs, she walks home alongside them, and the happiness is explicitly shared — “tuwang tuwa daw kami umuwi ni Nanay sa bahay.”

Mara: The dream ends the way a lot of good ones do: abruptly. The dreamer wakes at 3:11 in the morning, sees the clock light on the ceiling, and that’s the entry. No interpretation offered, just the image of the light and the time.

Pip: Sometimes the cart full of clean, crumpled plastic bags is its own explanation.

Mara: A dream about finding order inside apparent disorder — small brooms, closed wallets, a mother waiting below.

Pip: Next time, we’ll see what else surfaces when you dig past the surface. Stay curious.

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Podcast Episode: More Than a Day Off

14 Oct
Comic poster text: “MORE THAN A DAY OFF,” “Today is more than a day off,” “It’s not about escaping… It’s about engaging!,” “Fulfilled! Active! Part of something bigger!,” “COMMUNITY SERVICE MAKING A DIFFERENCE,” “with what TRULY matters!,” “COMMUNITY MURAL PROJECT,” and “Connecting, Serving, Growing… This is RESTORATION! This is LIFE!” Scenes show hiking, food-bank volunteering, and mural painting.

A comic-style poster contrasts hiking with meaningful community service through food-bank volunteering and a mural project.

Pip: Labor Day — the holiday Americans celebrate by doing everything except thinking about why it exists. Grills, sales, one last beach trip, and not a single question asked.

Mara: masmeron has been asking that question, and the answer turns out to matter quite a bit right now. Today we’re covering what Labor Day was actually built on, and what it still owes the people who make daily life run.

Pip: Let’s start with the history — and the forgetting.

More Than a Day Off

Pip: The post opens with a provocation: Labor Day is the most misunderstood holiday on the American calendar. Not because people dislike it, but because they’ve completely lost the plot on what it was for.

Mara: The origin is worth sitting with. The piece puts it plainly: “It was a demand — hard-won, blood-stained, and still unfinished.” That 1882 march through New York — ten thousand workers — wasn’t a celebration. Congress made it federal in 1894 after a violent railroad strike, essentially as a political apology.

Pip: A political apology that became a furniture sale. Remarkable turnaround.

Mara: And the piece argues that forgetting has real costs in 2026. Roughly one quarter of the American labor force are low-wage workers. Among them, seventy-two percent lack stable, secure jobs, and more than half are people of color. More than seventy percent of Americans now say having children is unaffordable — up thirteen points in a single year.

Pip: Those aren’t abstract demographics. The post names them directly: delivery drivers, nurses, teachers — the invisible architecture of daily life, as it puts it.

Mara: Then the economic backdrop sharpens things further. Official unemployment sits around four percent, but the post notes that number excludes people whose benefits have run out or who’ve stopped looking. Job creation in 2025 collapsed to just 181,000 for the entire year.

Pip: And AI is accelerating the pressure on workers who have the least runway to adapt.

Mara: The post cites Pope Leo XIV’s encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, warning that AI risks “normalizing a vision that is anti-human.” Young workers are entering a labor market being redesigned around them, in real time, without their input.

Pip: So the post lands somewhere unexpected — not at a policy argument, but at a philosophy.

Mara: Exactly. Strip away the sales and the sunscreen, it says, and Labor Day is a meditation on dignity. The 1882 marchers weren’t only asking for shorter hours — they were asserting that a human life is worth more than its productive output.

Pip: And it closes practically: tip specifically, learn someone’s name, rest without guilt. The workers of 1882 fought for that rest. The post’s point is — don’t waste it.

Mara: The question underneath all of this is the one the post ends on: who does work actually serve?

Pip: A question that doesn’t get easier just because the grill is lit. Same time next week.

White Trash Bags

14 Oct

Overflowing dumpster labeled Waste Management on a neighborhood street

An overflowing city dumpster sits along a lively neighborhood street lined with local shops.

Dahil napagod ang aking mga mata sa paggawa ng mga assignments ko ay natulog ako ng maaga kagabi mga bandang alas 7:30.  Sa himbing ng aking pagtulog ay nanaginip ako na kasama ko si Nanay. Isang umaga habang naglalakad kami ay may nakita akong isang malaking kariton na punong puno ng mga puting plastic na pakiwari ko ay mga trash bags ito. Nakahimpil ito sa gilid ng kalsada na walang dumadaang mga sasakyan at wala ring taong dumadaan dito. Napatigil ako sa tapat nito at ako ay umakyat sa tuktok ng kariton. Si nanay ay naiwan sa ibaba. Nakita ko na maraming mga puting plastics. Kinakalkal ko daw ito pero wala along makitang totoong basura sa loob ng plastic dahil wala itong mga lamang. Patuloy akong nagkakalkal hanggang makaabot ako sa bandang dulo ng kariton na ang kabuuan ng buong kariton ay natatakpan ng mga lukot pero malilinis na puting plastics. Nang pinawi ko ang mga puting plastics sa ibabaw ay nakakita ako ng mga bagong mga bagay tulad ng dalawang (2) wallet na sarado pa at iba pang mga gamit sa bahay. Tuwang tuwa daw kami umuwi ni Nanay sa bahay dahil marami kaming bitbit na puting plastics na may laman na napulot namin sa kariton na walang nagmamay-ari. Pagdating ko sa bahay ay unti-unti ko inilabas isa-isa ang mga laman ng puting plastic bags. Napag-alaman ko na may tatlong (3) maliliit na walis na pawang yari sa tambo at ibat-iba ang sukat nito. Ibinuka ko pa nga yung maliliit na walis dahil mga nakatiklop ito ng para bang mga payong na nakasarado. Natuwa daw daw Ako sa tatlong (3) walis tambo dahil sobrang liit nila at ibat-ibang sukat pa. Nilagay ko day ito sa isang sisidlan kasama pa ang ibang mga gamit na natagpuan ko sa malaki at mahabang kariton na punong-puno ng malilinis at lukot na puting plastic na basurahan sa ibabaw nito.

Kalaunan ay nagising na ako ng alas 3:11 ng madaling araw na nakita ko sa kisame na kung saan bumungad ang ilaw ng orasan na nasa tabi ng kama ko.

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More Than a Day Off

7 Sep

Infographic titled “UNDERSTANDING LABOR DAY: REFLECTING ON THE PAST, CELEBRATING THE PRESENT, & SHAPING THE FUTURE” with subtitle “INSIGHTFUL, RELATABLE, & TIMELY PERSPECTIVES.” Center text reads “HONORING AMERICAN WORKERS.” Sections read “HISTORICAL ROOTS: THE FIGHT FOR RIGHTS,” “Late 19th Century Movements,” “Labor Unions’ Struggles,” “1894 National Holiday,” “A DAY OF REST & REFLECTION,” “Taking Stock & Disconnecting,” “THE ECONOMIC IMPACT,” “Recognizing the Backbone of Commerce,” “MODERN WORKFORCE: EVOLVING CHALLENGES,” “Remote Work Gig Economy,” “Work-Life Balance Skills & Training,” “A TIMELY PERSPECTIVE: LOOKING AHEAD,” “The Future of Work Automation & AI,” “Green Economy Sustainable Growth,” and “GLOBAL CONTEXT: SOLIDARITY & DIGNITY,” “Universal Worker Rights Value in All Jobs.” A banner reads “8-HOUR DAY.”

This illustrated Labor Day infographic connects workers’ rights, economic contributions, rest, and the future of work.

The Holiday We Forgot to Think About

Every first Monday in September, millions of Americans fire up grills, hit the beach, and scroll through end-of-summer sales — all without pausing to ask: What exactly are we celebrating? Labor Day has become the most misunderstood holiday on the American calendar. We treat it as summer’s closing ceremony, a long weekend gifted to us by the calendar. But it was never meant to be a gift. It was a demand — hard-won, blood-stained, and still unfinished.

The holiday traces its roots to 1882, when roughly 10,000 workers marched through the streets of New York City — not in celebration, but in protest. At the height of the Industrial Revolution, the average American laborer worked 12-hour days, seven days a week, simply to eke out a basic living. Congress made it a federal holiday in 1894 — not out of generosity, but in the aftermath of a violent railroad strike that shook the nation. The holiday was, in essence, a political apology. And yet, 132 years later, most of us spend it without a single thought about the people it was meant to honor. This year, that forgetting feels more costly than ever.

The Workers Who Built Everything You’re Enjoying Today

Think about your Labor Day weekend for a moment. The roads you drove on. The gas in your tank. The groceries in your cooler. The electricity keeping your home cool. Every single comfort of this long weekend was built, maintained, and delivered by someone who showed up — often without fanfare, often without adequate pay, and increasingly without security.

Labor Day was born from a simple but radical idea: that workers’ time belongs to them, even if employers own their workplaces and pay for their work. In the 1800s, that meant fighting for an eight-hour workday. Today, it means fighting for stability in a gig economy, fighting for wages that keep pace with rent, fighting for the right to exist in a workplace without fear.

Roughly one-quarter of the American labor force are low-wage workers. Among them, 72% lack stable and secure jobs, and more than half are people of color. More than 70% of Americans believe having children is unaffordable — up 13 points in just the last year. These are not abstract statistics. These are your neighbors, your delivery drivers, your nurses, your teachers. They are the invisible architecture of your daily life.

The Ground Is Shifting — Fast

Labor Day 2026 arrives at a moment of profound economic anxiety. The official unemployment rate hovers around 4%, but that number obscures a harder truth: it excludes people whose benefits have run out or who have given up looking. Job creation collapsed in 2025 to just 181,000 for the entire year — a fraction of what a growing workforce needs. Meanwhile, the cost of groceries, rent, and everyday goods keeps climbing, with tariffs pushing prices higher still.

And then there is artificial intelligence — the new industrial revolution, arriving faster than any worker can prepare for. Pope Leo XIV, in his first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, warned that AI risks “normalizing a vision that is anti-human,” noting that AI systems can imitate but never replace human intelligence — they cannot feel, love, or discern. Young workers feel this most acutely. They are entering a labor market being redesigned around them, in real time, without their input. The question Labor Day forces us to ask in 2026 is not just how do we work? — but who does work serve?

What the Holiday Was Always Really About

Strip away the sales and the sunscreen, and Labor Day is a meditation on dignity. It always has been. The workers who marched in 1882 weren’t just asking for shorter hours — they were asserting that a human life is worth more than its productive output. That a person is not merely a unit of labor. That time — your time, your evenings, your weekends, your years — belongs to you.

That assertion is still radical. In a culture that glorifies the hustle, that equates busyness with worth, and that measures a person’s value by their productivity, the original spirit of Labor Day is quietly subversive. It says: rest is not laziness. It is a right. It says the person stocking shelves at midnight deserves the same dignity as the person in the corner office.

Work is more than a way to make a living. It is, as many faith traditions remind us, a form of participation in creation itself — a way of leaving the world slightly better than we found it. The nurse who works the overnight shift, the teacher who stays late, the sanitation worker who shows up before dawn — all of them are doing something that matters. That connection is what Labor Day, at its core, is meant to celebrate and protect. Not productivity. Not efficiency. Not output. Human beings, doing human work, in human conditions.

How to Actually Honor the Day

You don’t have to attend a rally or read a manifesto to honor Labor Day. You just have to remember. Remember the next time you tip — or don’t. Remember the next time you complain about a delayed delivery without thinking about the person who drove through the night to make it. Remember the next time you click “buy” at 2 a.m. that someone, somewhere, is fulfilling that order in a warehouse that may or may not have air conditioning.

Say thank you — specifically. Not a generic “thanks” to the cashier, but a real acknowledgment. Learn someone’s name. Make eye contact. Pay fairly. Tip generously. Support businesses that pay living wages. Your spending is a vote for the kind of economy you want to live in. Advocate for the invisible — gig workers, domestic workers, undocumented laborers. Their dignity is not separate from yours. And rest without guilt. The most radical thing you can do on Labor Day is actually rest — and mean it. Not scroll. Not hustle. Not optimize. Just be. The workers of 1882 fought for this moment. Don’t waste it.

 

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Last Minute Scenario

19 Aug

Infographic text: LAST-MINUTE SCENARIO; TIME PRESSURE; UNEXPECTED VARIABLES; RESOURCE CONSTRAINTS; DECISION BRANCHES; STAKEHOLDER IMPACT.

A futuristic infographic maps time pressure, uncertainty, resource constraints, decision branches, and stakeholder impacts around a central clock.

Have you ever experienced a last minute scenario? Definitely, almost everybody had experienced a last minute scenario regardless of sex, age, and socioeconomic status. This last minute scenario might be your Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve or someone’s birthday, couple’s wedding, a dying person or even certain situations like last minute decision or action; last minute question, statement, proposal, plan, program, project, etc. These are some examples of a last minute scenario.

Here is a thought-provoking question that you have to answer wisely, “If you have given a one-minute opportunity to change you or your decision for better, what is that thing and why? Another critical question is “If you are given a chance to live for one minute, what is the last minute that you shall do?” How and why shall you do it?

You can ask such kind of questions in less than one minute but your answers for that questions might be one-minute or more. Definitely, the actions with that answers are more than one minute. Would it be one-minute enough for you? The time cannot tell you but you can tell the time.

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Ulam sa Handaan

13 Aug

Multigenerational family enjoying dinner together at a lit outdoor night market

A multigenerational family shares a joyful meal beneath glowing lights at an outdoor night market.

Nanaginip ule ako ngayong madaling araw. Napanaginipan ko na isang gabi ay may malaking handaan. Mahaba ang isang lamesa na yari sa kahoy na walang sapin at may dalawang mahabang upuan na yari sa kahoy din sa kabilaan ng lamesa. Maraming kumakain at naroon ang kapatid ko na si Ca Let na nakaupo na malapit na sa dulo ng lamesa. Hindi pa raw ako nakaupo dahil pinapauna ko muna ang mga bisita na makaupo at makakain. Maya-maya ay dumating si Ca Lolly, pinsan namin, na umupo halos tapat ni Ca Let. May dala siyang mga ulam na gulay at isang balot na isda na mga maliliit na tinapa na kasinglaki lamang ng mga toyo pero tinapa ito. Nakabalot ito ng malinaw na plastic sa isang itim na styrofoar. Sabi daw ng kapatid ko na si Ca Let kay Ca Lolly ay “Luma na yan.” na ibig sabihin ni Ca Let ay hindi na ito ligtas kainin dahil luma na yung pagkain. Hindi sumagot si Ca Lolly at inilapag na lang sa lamesa yung ulam na gulay at yung nakabalot na tinapa. Pakiwari ko ay ayaw na niyang ibalik sa kusina at nagugutom na rin siya. Nang makita ni Ca Let ang paglapag ng ulam sa lamesa ay nabanggit niya na lamang na “Bahala ka.”

Nung nakaupo na si Ca Lolly ay umupo na rin ako sa tabi ni Ca Lolly para kumain na katapat sa pagitan naming dalawa si Ca Let na nakabistida ng puti na bagay sa kanya, naka shaggy ang buhok na hanggang leeg niya haba sa likod at may hikaw na ginto sa magkabilang tenga niya na may dangling pa na lumalaylay at kumikinang. Medyo malusog pa si Ca Let at mababanaag sa kutis niya ang kaputian niya.

Katabi ni Ca Let ay may mag asawang Pinoy na bata sa kanya na kumakain din. Hindi sila masyadong marunong mag-Tagalog kasi lumaki sila sa ibang bansa. Habang kumakain si Ca Let ay gusto niya ng bagoong na isda na malapit sa mag-asawa yung sawsawan na nasa platito. Gustong ipaabot ni Ca Let pero mahihiya niya itong sabihin at hindi niya maisalin sa salitang English yung “Bagoong”. Sinabi ko daw kay Ca Let na “Salty fish sauce o Bagoong.” Natawa daw si Ca Let sa akin nung nasabi ko ito ay inabot sa kanya yung sawsawan na bagoong para sa inihaw na bangus na nasa plato niya.

Dahil halos maubos na ang pagkain sa lamesa at ayaw kainin ni Ca Let yung nilapag ni Ca Lolly sa lamesa. Nainis siya sa mga katabi niya na kumakain din na sinandok lahat at inubos ang ulam sa gitna ng lamesa na hindi siya tinirhan. Kaya tumayo si Ca Let at nagpasyang kumuha ng ulam sa kusina.

Sa kusina ay may mga pininsan kami nandoon. Nandoon sa kusina si Ca Bing at napansin ni Ca Bing na parang naiinis na nagsasandok ng ulam si Ca Let na mula sa banga mula sa puting plato na babasagin. Yari sa kahoy ang pinapansandok niya sa ulam sa kusina. Nang makabalik na siya sa upuan at kumakain ay konti na lang kami kumakain. Wala na doon si Ca Lolly.

Nang kumakain na muli si Ca Let ay katapat ko na siya at katabi ko naman ay 2 babae na mukhang mag-ina na Pinoy. Yung ina ay bata sa akin na mga nasa 20’s Ang edad niya at batang babae ay mga walong taong gulang seguro ang edad niya. Pareho silang mahaba ang buhok at nakabistida din na dirty white. Habang kumakain kami ni Ca Let ay lumapit daw si Ca Bing na nagmula siya sa kusina kay Ca Let. Nakangiti si Ca Bing habang nakatayo sa tabi ni Ca Let na nakaupo at kumakain pa. Ang sabi daw ni Ca Bing kay Ca Let na “Napansin ko sa kusina na mukhang galit ka habang nagsasandok ka ng pagkain.” Ang sagot sa kanya ni Ca Let ay “Sukat ba naman sinabihan ako ng katabi ko kanina na, “Ang tanda tanda mo na, nakabaston ka pa.” Tapos nakita ko na nagtawanan na lang silang pareho ni Ca Let at Ca Bing.

Habang kumakain ako ay konti na ang ulam pero maraming kainin. Kumakain daw ako na naka-kamay lamang. Bago ko isubo yung puting puting kanin ay hinuhulma ko muna ito sa aking mga daliri. Masarap kainin yung kaning puti kahit na walang ulam kasi parang malagkit ito. Habang kumakain ay gusto ko uminom ng tubig pero walang tubig sa lamesa at walang malinis na baso sa lamesa puro nagamit na. Kumakain daw ako na walang tubig akong iniinom.

Napansin ko lamesa kahit kami na lang kumakain na apat katao ay walang nagliligpit pa kahit nasa gawing dulo kami ng lamesa. Nandun pa ang mga nagamit na mga malalaking plato na babasagin at kulay puti at baso na babasagin din at malinaw na walang kulay.

Nagising ako ng 5:34 ng umaga ng August 13, 2026. Naalala ko na si Ca Let at Ca Lolly pala ay iisang buwan na kamatayan, Agosto din. Bale namatay sa buwan ng Agosto si Ca Let, August 24, Si Indo Simay, August 25, hindi ko tiyak kung anong eksaktong araw si Ca Lolly, kung hindi ako nagkakamali ay parang last week din siya ng August namatay.

Ipagdasal natin ang kanilang mga kaluluwa. Minsan ang panaginip natin ay nagsisilbing paalala sa atin na hindi natin sila nakakalimutan habang buhay.

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Podcast Episode: The Day of Birth

12 Aug

Pip: Birthdays are a funny thing — we didn’t choose the date, but we spend a lifetime making meaning out of it.

Mara: Today on Hands-on, masmeron takes us into exactly that territory — the personal record of a birth, a family, and the people who shaped a life. Let’s start with the story of the day itself.

The Day of Birth

Pip: This post is doing something deceptively simple: it’s putting a life on the page — not as a resume or a eulogy, but as a personal record anchored to a specific moment in time.

Mara: The opening sets that anchor precisely. “It was Saturday before the sun sets in August 20, 1966 at around 6 pm when I was born in our ancestral house at Poblacion, Santa Cruz, Zambales, Philippines. This was my real birthday.”

Pip: That phrase — “my real birthday” — does a lot of quiet work. It suggests there’s an official record somewhere that disagrees, and this post is the correction. The truth told in the first person.

Mara: The post opens with a small numerical note: the digits of the birth date add up in a pattern that produces the birthday itself. It’s a detail that reads like something you’d discover and never forget.

Pip: Numbers as proof that the universe was paying attention. Which is a very human thing to need.

Mara: From there, the post names his parents — Guillermo Menes Meron and Teofila Montehermoso Mas, both forty-one at the time of his birth, both from Santa Cruz, Zambales. The specificity is the point.

Pip: It’s an act of preservation. These names, these ages, this place — written down so they don’t disappear.

Mara: He describes his parents and his aunt as “the three pillars of my life,” and then notes, plainly, that all three are gone. The gratitude he expresses is direct: for unconditional love, for provision, for helping him understand life’s purpose.

Pip: There’s no performance of grief here. Just the record, and the thanks.

Mara: The post closes on his adult years — time in Meycauayan City, Bulacan, some years abroad in public service — and a birthday wish: “a healthy, wealthy and happy life.” Simple, sincere, complete.

Pip: A birthdate, two parents, three pillars — it’s a small document that holds a whole life.

Mara: The kind of record that matters most to the people who come after. More from Hands-on next time.

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Podcast Episode: Top of the Hill

11 Aug
A woman and young boy walking hand in hand on a rocky trail near a coastal house at sunset

A mother and child share a joyful walk along a rugged coastal path at sunset.

Pip: There’s something about waking up at 5:52 in the morning and reaching for a pen before the dream dissolves that feels quietly urgent — like the mind knows something the rest of the day will drown out.

Mara: That’s exactly the territory masmeron is working in here — a dream, a hillside, a house, and what lingers when you open your eyes. Let’s start with the hill itself.

Top of the Hill

Pip: Dreams are slippery things. Most of them evaporate the moment the alarm goes off, but occasionally one leaves a shape behind — a feeling, a place, a face. This post is about one of those.

Mara: The setting is a rural hillside, and the post opens with this: “The hill was located in the rural area wherein I can feel the fresh and cooler air as we move toward a house.”

Pip: What strikes me about that line is the present tense — “I can feel” — as if the memory of the dream is still happening, still physical. The air isn’t remembered; it’s experienced.

Mara: The house they reach has a few rooms, painted bluish white, everything in its place, and nobody inside. The mother’s reaction is described simply: “My mother was amazed with a beautiful house. It showed it on her face.”

Pip: No inventory of the rooms, no architectural detail — just the expression on her face. That’s the whole image, and it carries more than a paragraph of description would.

Mara: Then the dreamer steps outside and the scale shifts. More hills, more distance, and at the top of one of them, a small single-floor house made of light materials, a rain-proofed roof, dried wood walls. No people, no animals.

Pip: Just the cool air again. The dream keeps returning to that — the freshness, the temperature. It’s the one sensory thread that holds the whole landscape together.

Mara: And then: “My dream discontinued when I open my eyes and see in the window blinds slits the morning light. It was 5:52 in the morning already.”

Pip: “Discontinued” is an unusual word for it. Not ended, not faded — discontinued, like a signal that was simply cut.

Mara: It’s precise in a way that feels accidental and exactly right. The dream had its own continuity, and waking interrupted it rather than concluded it.

Pip: A hillside, a house at the top, a mother’s face — the kind of dream that doesn’t explain itself but doesn’t need to.

Mara: Next time, more of what surfaces when the morning light comes through.

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Top of the Hill

11 Aug

Sunrise over foggy Chocolate Hills with traditional houses and green vegetation

Sunrise illuminates the famous Chocolate Hills landscape with fog and greenery

In the early morning of August 11, 2026, I had a dream. The dream was not so clear every detail of it but I can still recall some of it. I dreamed about my mother and I are walking together on a hill. The hill was located in the rural area wherein I can feel the fresh and cooler air as we move toward a house. When we reached the house, I saw that it has a few rooms painted with bluish white in color wherein everything in place. Nobody inside the house. My mother was amazed with a beautiful house. It showed it on her face. I knew we talked while inside the house but I cannot recall in my dream the exact details of our conversation. When I went outside the house, I saw many hills around that area. In the distance, I saw a single-floor, small house at the top of the hill. The small house is made up of light materials with a rain-proofed roof and dried wood wall. I cannot see anybody or even animals in that area. I could only feel the fresh and cooler air outside.

My dream discontinued when I open my eyes and see in the window blinds slits the morning light.  It was 5:52 in the morning already.

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