I dreamt of my dad.
He looked wet as if he was in the rain.
He was in front of the door, and I was
surprised to see him here.
He’s been dead for several years.
Two years or three years or more. I never
count.
I remember it was a holiday. Everyone was
celebrating Taiwan’s birthday.
I was in the hospital. My dad lay on the ward bed.
His heart stopped beating.
I was holding his hand, and we were waiting.
Waiting for someone to drive him home.
“Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t know. I need to take a shower. I
need to change clothes.”
He walked straight to the bathroom.
Is it okay for him to be here?
I’m not
devoted to any religions, but won’t any of Gods feel pissed off?
I have hundreds of questions in my mind
while he’s showering.
Can he still be my father? Does he need a
new identity?
Is he dead or alive? Which world does he
belong to?
His name has been removed from our
household certificate.
Maybe the government would think we cheated
them.
However, he’s right here.
I can see him. I
can touch him. I can hear him.
Then I woke up.
I hope he won’t get punished for getting
lost in my dream.
