Dream — February 17, 2014
Today I dreamed that I was either in school or at work. I had my own desk, with my things on it — a cup, a small box.
And there was also Natasha Lebedeva (the most beautiful girl from our class) and her group, and they were bullying me.
They threw everything off my desk, including my address book with phone numbers and all my little treasures. They emptied out my box, stuffed it with their own things.
I had three pairs of flip-flops there — they tore the straps off every single pair.
I came back, looked at all of it — and started crying.
I pulled out my box, dumped everything they had stuffed into it onto the floor (the things that weren’t mine).
I cried uncontrollably.
It even felt like I was really crying in my sleep.
Then I went downstairs to the first floor.
From one of the doors, a young girl with short blond hair burst out — she was naked, wrapped in a sheet that looked more like a big fluffy blanket.
She ran toward me and past me.
And then I saw — at the end of the corridor, walking toward me — my “tormentors”: young guys, about 17–19 years old, all in “beach” outfits — shorts and bare chests.
They were strong, aggressive, full of force.
The girl and I rushed downstairs into the basement.
We ran down a corridor — and the guys noticed us.
They cheered when they saw we were running into the basement — a place where they could beat us up or worse.
Other girls showed up too.
The girl in the sheet fell.
And I decided I wouldn’t give up without a fight.
After all, hadn’t I trained in boxing?
I thought: At least I’ll manage to punch one of them in the face.
After that scene, I woke up.
But the feelings from the dream stayed with me:
that sticky, unpleasant sensation, like someone had stripped you, groped you, and exposed you —
even though in reality it was just your things that had been violated.
It was the feeling of powerlessness —
because you don’t know exactly who did it, because they are many and stronger,
and because there’s this fear:
if they already dared this, what else might they think they can do?
Hurt you? Kill you?
And the feeling that you definitely can’t fight back —
that you’ll have to swallow the humiliation, keep walking, only to maybe be attacked again.
Have you ever felt that?
In a softer form, I have experienced something like it.
In such moments, there’s often simply no way to resist.
Right after waking up, these feelings still tortured me.
So I started thinking about the situation and its nature.
Using the “why–what for–why” method — tracing back the possible reasons behind the aggressors’ behavior —
I realized:
they must have been deeply afraid inside.
And to feel strong, to feel in control, they needed to exert power over someone else.
Who knows what happened to them in their families or early childhood?
If they aren’t full-blown psychopaths who enjoy causing pain, then it’s almost certainly fear.
And people like that — you can only feel sorry for them.
After all, it’s just a box (even though, in the dream, it felt like it held something utterly unique and irreplaceable for me).
In reality, they were just things — not worth mourning.
And that intense fear — the kind that pushes a person to dominate others in order to feel “on top” —
that’s far worse than the loss of three pairs of flip-flops.
I thought about this… and, strangely, felt a little proud of myself.
Dream — February 19, 2014
I was in Russia.
We had arrived at some concert in my white Zhiguli (“sixth model”).
Parking was hard to find.
After the concert, I came back — and the car was gone.
I searched the whole area.
No car.
But surprisingly, I wasn’t terribly upset about losing the car itself.
What upset me more was that my suitcase — the one I brought from the U.S. — had been in the trunk.
And inside that suitcase was my best clothing — my jeans, shoes, jewelry.
For some reason, it was the loss of those things that made me really sad,
even though I had had the good sense to keep my passport and return ticket in the handbag I carried with me.
I kept looking.
In the process, I met a girl whom I managed to soften up with my story —
especially mentioning the diamond pendant my friend had given me for my birthday.
The girl left — and I followed her.
And suddenly — out of nowhere — my car reappeared.
The girl opened the trunk, where my suitcase was.
She started rummaging through it, searching for the jewelry.
I rushed at her, demanding to know who was behind the theft.
It turned out to be a rough-looking young man — tall and heavy-set.
Even though he looked huge and intimidating — towering over me by at least two heads —
I lunged at him, demanding the return of my jewelry.
He handed back my turquoise feather earrings and a cheap necklace.
I kept shaking him down until, finally, he pulled out a small black velvet pouch —
inside, presumably, were my remaining jewelry pieces and the diamond pendant.
But even though I got my things back, I had missed my flight.
I returned to the place where I had lived.
I began digging through drawers, finding perfumes, makeup —
things I had left behind when I first moved to the States.
Now I needed to figure out if I could exchange my missed ticket for a new one —
or if I would have to buy a new ticket altogether.
I didn’t want to believe that I might have to pay again —
especially because the first ticket had cost me $1900.
I needed to get to the airport.
I went down into the metro.
And then — my nightmare:
the entire Moscow metro had been completely rebuilt.
There were countless new lines —
some running above ground,
some stopping at stations with no platforms,
several lines sharing one platform,
routes twisting unpredictably.
It was like walking through the “Golden Chain” house —
you think you’re heading one way but end up somewhere completely unexpected.
You stumble onto strange, unfamiliar branches you never knew existed.
You lose any sense of direction.
At the same time, the metro was incredibly beautiful —
full of whimsical, palace-like architecture.
But some staircases led back to themselves — or nowhere at all.
And this filled me with a deep fear and sadness:
that maybe I would remain lost forever, trapped in this bewildering metro…