Apocalypse, now. Or soon.

ice-age-in-town-city-apocalypse-building-1024x768Yesterday night, I woke up at 2 a.m. from a bad dream. Picture this, a large, colonial looking house, with rooms as big as NYC’s Grand Central Station. I found myself outside in my nightgown, staring in the face of a quite attractive guy. I was scared and went to him for protection. men in parachutes were falling from the sky like a heavy summer’s rain. One of them landed close to me and the guy. We knew instantly that they had to be the Pro-Russian separatist (made sense in my dream, at least). As we stood close to a pillar on the veranda of the mansion, we sought shelter from the scary, buff-looking soldier. We snuck behind a litte wall, but he had already seen us. He pretended not to, and started walking away from us, toward the other entrance of the house, but made sure to let us know he meant serious business by pointlessly firing his automatic weapon numerous times in our direction, only barely missing us. The bullets found target in the wall beside us. The guy I was with, was connected or allied to the rebels from the sky, and although my blue nightgown gave off the signal that I was neutral, wasn’t involved in the conflict, he felt the need to protect me and hide me in the house. Unfortunately, the side of the house we were in had no real hide-outs, so we had to crawl over the veranda in the same direction of where the G.I.Joes were going.

On that side of the porch was a large tree, with roots that had upheaved part of the tilework. It had been there for decades, and formed a solid part of the house. Before I came to look for my darkhaired friend, I had been inside the tree wth friends, so this is where I wanted to find refuge again. Alas, an army of (okay, and now it gets a bit unrealistic) fantasy creatures like unicorns, dwarphs, elves and Dobby-like figures came falling from the sky too. The tree was no longer safe territory. A giant in a black cloak, with a scruffy beard came down the tree trunk and swept me off my feet. He wanted to kidnap me, take me hostage, but because he kind of bluntly swinged me acrossed his shoulder like a human trash bag, I tried to bargain with him. I told him I would come willingly, if he would just let me sit in his back. He agreed. He started running inside the house, and his clumsy running made me slide of his slippery cloak repetedly. He placed me on his shoulders instead.

We ran like this through the house for what seemed like hours, running behind the separatist movement. Each room we entered led us deeper inside the house and I had a feeling we were getting lost. The house was like a maze, and each room had it’s own theme with an eerie-looking collection of stuff from colonial times that could have belonged in a museum. Dark, tropical wood cabinets, aquariums with tropical fish, blue and yellos parrots of a hundred years old. Paintings of previous inhabitants, voodoo dolls, taxidermic animals, heads of insubordinate slaves. I shivered.

Finally, we found an exit, in the form of the majestic front door of the mansion. I had been in a small nightgown because the climate was like in Rio, but when we exited the font door, it was like we were in a completely different world. The sky was dark, like during a snowblizzard, clouding out all sunlight. We saw frozen rovers, and the buildings that we could discern, were covered in a vast layer of frozen snow. Suddenly, everyone was wearing snowboots, big parka’s and fleece hats. Everyone but me. The could didn’t seem to bother me though. This is what I imagined The Ukraine, or Russia must look like in winter and in wartime. Cold, deserted, and most of all, depressing. A little newsparestand caught my eye. It stood on the corner of a bridge, near a frozen river. Under the little roof stood a little 6 year old chinese girl and her mother. They were both crying. The little girl had lost her favorite teddybear in the confusion of the war, and she was now unconsolable. I tried to show her some of the trinkets on sale at the newsstand, desperate to make her feel better, but I knew it was useless. Nothing could replace a missing favorite teddy bear, I knew this.

In stead of trying to make her smile, I just hugged her. I wrapped my naked arms around her pink, fluffy coat, and we just stood there. Tears were silently streaming down both our cheeks. Nothing but the end of war could remove our pain.

This is when I woke up. I had a pit in my stomach, and an aching feeling in my heart. The sadness I had felt in my dream, stayed with me when I woke up. What did this dream mean, and why did I wake up in the middle of the night? Usually when I dream and I remember, is when I have to wake up in the morningm, ten minutes before my alarm. Usually when I remember a dream, it’s because I wake up constricted in my covers, hot from the blankets that are wrapped around my body theree times. Not this time.

Too sad and awake to go asleep again, I sent a message to the one person that I knew was awake at this hour. I asked him if he knew what my dream could mean. Brace yourself, the world is ending, he said. Be serious, I replied, I’m really sad and I don’t know what to think now. But he was serious. We continued talking and he explained using Malthus how population has no other way but to selfdestruct. Too many babies are being born in this world to be able to maintain a stable environment. Wars happen because we can’t handle more people on this planet at the same time. It’s not even really a conscious thing, but a more… innate, instinctive, unconscious thing, really, preprogrammed in humans.

Is this why we keep making such a mess of this planet? Somehow, vile, evil things are happening, and have been happening for a while on this planet now. Modern technology, although in many cases a blessing, also brings a lot of destruction, and in a faster rate than we can repair. It kills me that it took something simple, relatively ‘isolated’ as the shooting of this flight to let the world respond in shock. Somehow, it hits closer to home if there’s people of your own country involved. Somehow, this event has caused a wave of mourning, of anger, of frustration in the world, a feeling of common consciousness that something needs to change.

Personally, I think there might be a hint of truth in what my nocturnal conversation partner was professing. If we continue at this rate, many more innocent lives will be lost. On the other hand, if I see how strongly people have been responding to the shooting of flight MH17, I still have hope. I see the compassion in people, the love they show others they don’t even know. Yes, it hurts to see what we do to each other. Yes, I feel lost, not knowing where to start, not knowing how to make the world better, but at the same time, I do think it’s possible. If not for love, what do we live for? Why do we try? Why do we live anyway?

What the hell it has to do with the fact that he is black and why he feels the need to adress this, I don’t understand, but I can’t hold back my tears while watching this. He is right. This guy sees it too.

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