Some nights ago I had this dream. I am not sure where I was, somewhere in the city. There was an event, lots of people were coming to this place. My friend Q was there, she was coordinating with her hubby S on a walkie-talkie, apparently in-charge of securing the visiting monks. Buddhist monks in saffron robes walked by with fashionable duffel bags, Cartier and Gucci maybe, made of canvas and leather, predominantly brown-colored with saffron accents and big buckles. I was the main event. I was a boxer. Pretty strange because I don’t like boxing at all, as it’s a savage sport. (This was several days after the much-vaunted Pacquiao-Morales fight, which I didn’t watch with the rest of the country.) I went across to another building, my relatives were there. Some didn't take notice of me.
Now that I think of it, what was so striking about the dream was this: Buddhist monks, the most ascetic of creatures, were coming in droves (so many that security measures had to be ensured) to see me, the savage, perform my trade. Eh, that’s a lot to chew on.
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