A recall.

The day was drawing to an end. The sun behind sinking behind the horizon, the skies a carpet of gold. There were people with me, mostly foreigners. It was the end. We found the place we were looking for. I turned around to a couple, Spaniards I think.
"You guys gonna settle down here?" I asked.
"Yeah. I guess so. Seems like a nice enough place."
I don't seem to quite remember their names, but we introduced each other.

There was a row of houses. Old and shabby. We were driving pass the row of houses, and I saw a small empty land behind it. I had the car stopped, and we got out to have a look at the piece of land. It was like a fun park. People were guarding the entrance, charging one Ringgit for entrance.
" I have to go in and see this place. This is where I used to play when I was young."
There were brick rubbles around that empty land, as I remembered. But there were a lot more things I remembered being there. Air conditioner vents, electrical wires, .....
I could remember myself running around the place with friends. I kept on hearing the echoes of the kids screaming about in my ears. I could see them running lively chasing each other and waving their hands about.
My eyes suddenly caught a sight. At the other end of the empty land was small hill that goes up to a house.
"That's the house," I said.
"You wanna go over?" the Spaniard lady asked me.
I nodded. "Yes." it came out finally.
We made our way over to the entrance of the house. The door was never locked. Inside, the walkway led us to many doors, of which each housed a family of their own. From the wooden outlay around, I began to hear a faint cry. A baby. In an instant, I began to tear. The baby's cry hit me right in the heart, much as if I could feel what the baby was feeling. I walked faster. I knew that was what I was looking for: the baby. As I've reached the source of the crying, I found it to be from a loft. A lady was trying to hush the baby from crying, while she pulled a ladder up to prevent people getting into their 'home'. That lady. I haven't even seen her face, but hearing her voice made me tear again. The familiar voice that I used to hear from the day I was born.
"Is that her?" the Spaniard lady asked me.
"Yes." I was petrified. I couldn't make a move to even talk to that lady.
"Let me do the talking. I think its better that way. It wouldn't be easy for you to explain the truth out anyway."
"Hey, guys." The call came from up there. We turned to look, and found the lady staring straight at me. It seemed like an eternity of silence, with my eyes fixed on hers and hers on mine. " I need your help," she suddenly looked towards the Spaniard lady with me.
" I'm going to fix milk for my son in the kitchen. I was wondering if you could be nice enough to help take care of him until then.
She passed her son to us, and I was holding him up in front of me, dumbstruck. The person I was staring at, I cannot believe. I sat myself down with him, and him right in front of me. I played with his small hands and fingers; nothing more than an inch long.
The mother was back, still testing the heat of the milk in the bottle. From afar, she was already speaking to the baby, constantly wanting the baby to hear her voice. She got hold of her kid, and sat on the ground feeding the baby. As the small fingers held on to the milk bottle, leaning against the mother, she comforted the baby with words and wiping the tears away from the baby's face and sweat from the baby's forehead.
"Don't worry, mommy's here......Mommy's got your milk........Good boy...... You're gonna grow up to be a big man one day, and I don't want you to be anything like your father, okay....... You'll need to protect me from then on....... You'll be the son who'll make millions and touch the lives of even more millions...... Good boy..... I'm so proud of you..."
At that very moment, I stood there watching as she said those words into the ears of the baby boy. I cried. I was witnessing not only a mother's love and care for her little baby, but also what she has had set out for this particular baby.

I heard a faint sound of a familiar phone ring. It was my phone. I opened my eyes, and found myself tucked in comfortably in my bed. I heard my room door open, as the phone stopped to ring. A familiar footstep walked into my room. The person had long hair and dressed in brown. In that instant, I recalled my dream. The Spaniard lady was right. There was no way the mother could believe my words if I'd tell her that I'm her son. The exact son that she was feeding, the exact son that she had big plans for. The exact son that she just asked to wake up and asked if she could borrow my car for the day.

I typed into my phone:'I had a dream. I met you. You were young, and you were trying to stop a baby from crying. You were very young.' I sent it to CIA
The reply came: 'That baby is you la'.

This is the first time I'm writing a story straight from my dream, and its one of those dreams that become hard to remember a while after I'm awake. This is the most I could make of it. Just want to store it up in this blog so I can remember it.