Places that Don't Exist
Photo by Jokūbas Bliujus
Do you ever wake up believing the dream you had was real and now having to live with the consequences of whatever happened while you were sleeping? Perhaps you even lay there terrified and confused for a few minutes, only to then realize it was not true? Or maybe you were disappointed that it was only a dream?
My brain plays these tricks on me all the time. I am almost convinced that I travel somewhere when I sleep, like a literal city or place, and every night I go to different (or the same) parts of this place. Like travelling a country, but you don't choose where you end up.
I often dream about my hometown. Or rather, some place that resembles it a lot. Some streets are so familiar, and others look convincingly so. I haven't been to my hometown in 1.5 years. I miss it a lot, but I noticed that some memories of it have become blurry. When I dream, I see my own version of it clearly.
For some time each night, I'd dream about a small Chinese restaurant. It was so incredibly realistic—I remember the waiters, the cashier, and the variety of food on the tables. The weirdest part is that this imagery was very consistent—each time I saw the same steamed buns and side dishes on the display trays. The building looked like a small cube with transparent windows, a colorful oasis somewhere between the gray post-Soviet box buildings. I only went inside a few times. When I did, I would stand looking into the food display, chat with the owner, sit on the wooden chair, and enjoy a flavorful veggie bun.
What's special about the way I dream is that I can “feel sensations”—in this case, I can smell the food or feel the shift in temperature when I come inside from the gloomy, cold street. I knew for sure where in the city this food spot was, down to the street intersections. These dreams were so real and persistent that I even looked at city maps to find the place, but, of course, it was nowhere to be found.
It was then that my dreams changed. In the ones that followed, I would see the place but couldn't come inside. As time went on, I couldn't even find it anymore, instead wandering the streets, hoping to bump into it.
The season in these dreams is always late autumn or winter. The streets are cold, lit by yellow streetlights that exude a quiet glow. It's chilly but also cozy, in a way.
Another recurring place that I “visit” often is a huge train station; think Amsterdam Sloterdijk, but ten times bigger. It has big, long stairways and empty passages. Sometimes I need to just pass through or transfer, but often I need to catch a train. Throughout different dreams, the station retains most of its features—long pathways and walls covered in grayish dark tiles, similar to bathroom ones. There are barely any people, and they all look like shadowy figures that move slowly, as if hovering above the ground. The station looks semi-abandoned, yet I have the feeling that I need to use it. Train platforms are, on the other hand, narrow and claustrophobic, and the trains are old.
This “liminal” station is somewhere near the Chinese diner. I know that because I walked from one place to another a few times. It’s supposed to be a block or two away, but I get lost in there. If I go forward through the city square where the restaurant is, and I do some wandering around, I see that behemoth of a station. Yet this path seems to rearrange itself, and if I'm in the middle of it, I can't find anything familiar.
Whenever I need to get on a train, there’s always some type of issue; I’m either on the wrong track and I run across the rails to get to the place I need, or the train breaks down mid-tunnel or something else along those lines. Either way, the experience is never smooth.
Like with the Chinese food spot, I started thinking about where this station could be. As I've never actually been to a station that big, I assume that's just an exaggerated image. I do, however, look for similarities if I pass by a train station.
Why do I think there's something wrong with these dreams, then? Because usually dreams are random, and you barely ever see the same place exactly the same or have the same dream over and over. Still, I'm almost convinced that my mind actually “goes somewhere,” like an astral projection type thing.
But there's also a more realistic explanation for what I'm experiencing. Recurring dreams say something about what bothers your subconscious. There aren't really fixed definitions of what specific dreams mean; the way they make you feel matters a lot.
Shortly before I moved from my hometown, I almost got into a train accident. By almost, I mean that I missed the train that broke down after leaving that station. If I came just 2 minutes earlier, I'd be in the middle of it.
I saw the distressed crowd that poured out of the station that got shut down immediately after. The police cars, the ambulance, and the firefighters. And a guy with his arm slashed open, who sat on the pavement surrounded by other passengers. At the time, nobody knew what happened, but we all stood there, unable to leave, strangers connected by a sense of confusion and fear.
Later on the news said that there was a technical issue with the train, and part of the door separated from the mechanism and flew into the crowd of passengers. People had to walk through the tunnel to get out. The guy I saw was supposedly the only one injured, but that was not really clear from the news reports.
This was frightening in the moment, and not only because of the thought that I could have been there, but also because of the realization of how unsafe mundane things can be.
The Chinese diner, though slightly different, reminds me of my favorite food spot in my hometown. It was a small Chinese-style restaurant located near my campus. I took all of my friends there and even went there alone after classes. I'd say I was there a few times a month. This place was my getaway and a space to connect with people I care about. The location got shut down and moved somewhere else. You know this quote: “You can return to the past, but nobody is there”? That's exactly how I feel about this. The one place that I held dear to my heart doesn't exist anymore, and I can't recreate these memories even if I wanted to. I guess I long for this feeling of peace and comfort when I dream.
These two polar opposite images represent me being torn between the comforting memories of my hometown and the understanding that it's not a safe place anymore. I knew it in theory because of the ongoing political crisis, but then I got to experience it on my own. Yet, I still cling to the good memories. My dreams became a place where I could cope with these two coexisting realities.