sweet dreams are made of these

I dreamt about my dad and woke up in a cold sweat. It went something like this

he's been incognito for a decade now. Trying to avoid the results of an exorbitant heist crime, he's been living the life of a James Bonde-esque informant. He attempted a truly heinous robbery in our small town mental hospital in the late 90's. Convinced that security would let up when the robber claimed temporary insanity, it would allow for his conspirators to head in for the loot. Nobody realized institutions didn't really swindle cold hard cash, and that distracting security would forcibly free those wanting to flee. This temporary boredom led to the shutdown and re habitation of over 100 mentally ill patients. He didn't really need the money, I think it was his attempt at the world's most douche bag crime. He failed at that too, the next year someone unsuccessfully raided a hospice. So he fled, one part utter humiliation, one part the little tom sawyer, battered and repressed for the good part of his adult life. Cleverly forging his death, he was a hero to the brilliantly insane and a bastard to the flocks of normalcy.

Though his skin brown, he convinced all of his thoroughbred English upbringing (bloody hell, his accent was impeccable!) and gracefully climbed the steep tiers of the UK secret service. The lies convinced him so thoroughly, that the concept of a family and life in US suburbia was completely beyond his now-couture perception. He had believed whole heartedly that he contracted amnesia and was one of the institutionalized escapees from nowheretown, USA. Without a pause, his path was paved east, over the pacific, and as far as possible from the nothing he had in the nowhere he could hardly recall. His newfound role cemented a charisma and debonair which appealed to him from his formidable Hollywood-inspired adolescence. He remembered those names, Sean Connery, Tom Cruise, Harrison Ford, but forgot his own. Funny how selective amnesia works when you want it to

Rightfully so, I commend him. True freedom, from the self he's painstakingly molded for 40 years, from the family that economically bound him to his 9-5, from the fetters of being a Filipino in the US. I applaud him and felt no remorse. If anything it was jealousy.

It's rare i remember dreams.