Lost A

Tag: dream life

  • A Million Dreams – chapter 9: The Perfect Weekend Morning

    A Million Dreams – chapter 9: The Perfect Weekend Morning

    There is something deeply unfair about weekday mornings.

    An alarm blares at an unreasonable hour, responsibilities immediately start demanding attention, and before you’ve even had coffee, life is already asking things from you.

    But in my dream life, weekend mornings are different.

    I wake up naturally, without the sound of an alarm trying to ruin my happiness. No rushing. No schedules. Just soft morning light slipping through the curtains.

    The first thing I see when I open my eyes is my favorite person in the world, still asleep beside me.

    Honestly, I can’t imagine a better way to start a day.

    Before coffee. Before breakfast. Before anything.

    Just him.

    There is something so peaceful about watching someone you love sleep. The world feels quiet, safe, and somehow a little brighter. It is the kind of sight that fills your heart before your feet even touch the floor.

    Naturally, I would move a little closer for a cuddle.

    Eventually he would wake up, slowly and reluctantly, and neither of us would rush to get out of bed. We’d stay there for a while, enjoying the luxury of having nowhere important to be.

    No phones.

    No plans.

    Just the comfortable silence that only exists between two people who genuinely enjoy each other’s company.

    After finally convincing ourselves to leave our cozy little nest, we’d go brush our teeth and wash up.

    Still wearing yesterday’s pajamas, of course.

    Weekend rules.

    Then comes my favorite part.

    Coffee.

    Or rather, his coffee.

    Because no matter how hard I try, no matter how many tutorials I watch, no matter how fancy the coffee equipment gets, he simply makes better coffee than I do.

    It’s one of life’s mysteries.

    We would open the window and let the cool autumn breeze drift into the room. The weather would be perfect. The kind that makes you want to take a deep breath just because it feels nice.

    Standing side by side, coffee mugs warming our hands, we’d look out at the world waking up.

    And then I would ask the most important question of the morning.

    “Can we have pancakes and eggs for breakfast?”

    He’d smile and say yes.

    Obviously.

    Because every perfect morning deserves pancakes.

    In the kitchen, he’d immediately take charge as if he were hosting a cooking show nobody asked for.

    He’d mix the pancake batter while I cracked eggs for scrambled eggs. I would try to help, but somehow he’d still end up doing most of the cooking.

    I wouldn’t argue.

    Some battles aren’t worth fighting.

    Instead, I’d slice fresh fruit, prepare the plates, and squeeze oranges for fresh juice while pretending I was contributing equally to breakfast.

    Together we’d fill the kitchen with the smell of butter, coffee, and warm pancakes.

    The kind of smells that should honestly be bottled and sold.

    When breakfast is finally ready, we’d sit down and enjoy every bite.

    And somehow food always tastes better when someone else cooks it.

    Especially when that someone happens to be the best cook in the world.

    After breakfast we’d clean the kitchen together.

    One washes.

    One dries.

    Nobody escapes.

    And somewhere between putting away dishes and wiping down counters, he would ask:

    “So, where do you want to go today?”

    I would look outside at the beautiful weather and say, “How about a walk?”

    He would agree.

    Or at least pretend to.

    We’d get dressed in comfortable clothes, lace up our sneakers, and head out the door.

    But instead of taking me for a walk, he’d surprise me with a detour.

    Ice skating.

    The moment I see the rink, I would immediately remember that it has been years since I last skated.

    I would also suddenly remember every possible way a human can fall.

    Meanwhile, he would already be confidently putting on his skates.

    I would question all my life choices.

    The first few minutes would be shaky.

    There would be wobbling.

    There would be panic.

    There would be dramatic declarations that I had forgotten how to skate entirely.

    But he would take my hand and stay beside me.

    And little by little, the fear would disappear.

    Soon I’d be gliding across the ice, laughing, feeling like I had never stopped skating at all.

    The cold air, the sound of skates cutting across the ice, his hand in mine.

    Simple moments.

    Perfect moments.

    The kind that don’t seem extraordinary when you describe them, but somehow become the memories you treasure forever.

    And as we skate together on that beautiful autumn morning, I would think to myself:

    This is exactly what happiness looks like.

    Not grand adventures.

    Not luxury.

    Not perfection.

    Just a slow morning, good coffee, pancakes, laughter, and the person you love by your side.

    And honestly?

    That sounds like the perfect weekend to me.

  • If a Genie Granted Me One Wish

    If a Genie Granted Me One Wish

    The genie grants you a wish. What is it?

    If a Genie Granted Me One Wish

    When I was younger, I thought the answer would be easy.

    More money.

    More time.

    A beautiful house.

    A life without worries.

    The usual things people wish for when someone hands them unlimited possibilities.

    But the older I get, the harder this question becomes.

    Not because I don’t know what I want.

    Because I want too many things.

    I don’t mean possessions. I mean lives.

    If a genie appeared in front of me and offered a single wish, I don’t think I would ask for wealth, fame, or success.

    I think I would ask for the chance to live every life I’ve ever dreamed about.

    Not forever.

    Just long enough to know.

    Long enough to walk around inside those dreams and discover whether they felt the way I imagined.

    I would like to spend a season as a potter.

    I’d wake up every morning in a sunlit studio with clay under my fingernails and shelves lined with pieces drying quietly in the corner. I’d learn patience. I’d learn how many failures it takes to create something beautiful with my hands.

    Then I would live an entirely different life.

    I’d own a tiny bakery tucked into a quiet street. The kind with warm lights glowing through the windows before sunrise. I’d spend early mornings measuring flour, brewing coffee, and greeting the same familiar faces every day.

    After that, perhaps I’d disappear to a farm.

    Nothing grand.

    Just a simple life surrounded by open skies, flowers, and the rhythm of seasons. The kind of life where time is measured differently. Where mornings begin with birds instead of notifications.

    Then I’d step onto a beautiful train and travel slowly across countries I’ve always wanted to see.

    No rushing.

    No schedules.

    Just watching unfamiliar landscapes pass by the window while holding a cup of coffee and wondering what life looks like for the people in those distant towns.

    And after that?

    Who knows.

    There are so many versions of me I’ve wondered about over the years.

    The writer.

    The painter.

    The shop owner.

    The traveler.

    The dreamer who said yes instead of no.

    The brave version.

    The adventurous version.

    The version who never worried whether she was making the right choice.

    Sometimes I think what I envy most is not the lives themselves.

    It’s the certainty.

    The ability to know.

    To stand in the middle of a dream and finally discover if it was everything I imagined.

    But perhaps the real lesson is that we aren’t supposed to know.

    Maybe life was never designed for us to experience every possibility.

    Maybe it asks us to choose one road and accept that thousands of others will remain unexplored.

    There is something heartbreaking about that.

    But there is also something beautiful.

    Because every unlived life becomes a dream.

    And dreams have a way of staying perfect.

    A genie could give me wealth.

    A genie could give me success.

    A genie could even give me more years.

    But if I were granted one wish, I think I would ask for something far stranger.

    I would ask to spend a little time in every life I have ever imagined for myself.

    Not because I want to escape the life I have.

    But because I have always been curious about the lives waiting behind the doors I never opened.

    And perhaps that curiosity, more than any single dream, is who I really am.

  • A Million Dreams – Chapter Six: The Train I Saved For Love

    A Million Dreams – Chapter Six: The Train I Saved For Love

    Some dreams stay quiet for years. They sit in the background of your life, waiting for the right chapter. The Eastern and Oriental Express was one of mine. I used to look at photos of the green and gold carriages and imagine myself inside them, moving through Malaysia like a slow and gentle film.

    I never knew who would be sitting next to me. Sometimes I pictured a friend. Sometimes I pictured someone I loved. Life eventually answered the question in its own soft way. One day the right person simply became part of my story. Someone who already understood my jokes, my moods, my rituals, my quiet parts, my loud ones, and I understood his Someone who felt like home long before I ever said the word, and I felt like his.

    So the dream changed shape. It became a honeymoon dream. The kind that feels earned. The kind that feels like a reward for every year of waiting.

    On the first day, we would board in Singapore. The staff would welcome us with something refreshing to drink. I can already imagine the way we would look at each other, half laughing, half emotional, because we finally made it. Dinner would be our first dinner on a moving train. The chef would send out something beautiful and we would pretend to understand the menu while secretly just enjoying the moment.

    The second day would take us to Perlis. I love the idea of waking up to the gentle rocking of the train and seeing someone there who feels familiar in the best way. We would explore art and culture together, probably take too many photos, probably buy something we do not need. The celebrations at night would feel warm and joyful. A little chaotic in a sweet way.

    Morning on the train would feel like waking up inside a moving dream. The world outside would slide by in soft green and gold. The cabin would smell faintly of coffee and warm pastries. A tray would be waiting on the bed with croissants, jam, butter and a cup of coffee still steaming. The window would be open to the scenery. We would eat slowly, half watching the trees, half watching the reflection of someone beside me. The train would hum beneath us, steady and calm, and everything would feel suspended in time. It would be the kind of morning that makes you forget the world exists beyond this cabin. The kind that makes you think this is what peace looks like.

    Day three would be the heart of the trip. Penang. Peranakan cooking. Georgetown’s murals. The smell of spices. I imagine us walking through the streets like two characters in a soft movie. He would hold my hand. I would pretend I am not emotional. Back on the train, Music. Laughter. Fireworks blooming beyond the Petronas Towers. A sky celebrating us. A sky saying finally.

    The last morning would be the softest. Breakfast in the cabin. Johor passing by like watercolor. The train rocking as if it wants to keep us a little longer. I imagine looking at them and feeling that quiet gratitude. The kind that sits in your chest and stays there. The kind that says this is the life I waited for.

    Soon after, the train would cross into Singapore. The dream would end. But the story we built together would keep going.

    And maybe that is the real dream.

  • A Million Dreams – Chapter Four: Grow As We Go

    A Million Dreams – Chapter Four: Grow As We Go

    Sometimes I imagine an alternative life for myself, one that feels both impossible and completely within reach. A life on a farm, not the distant, one‑hour‑away farms we have here in Kuwait, but a dream version only fifteen minutes from the city. In that dream, the land is wide and generous, stretching out like a soft promise. There’s a main house with a swimming pool to survive the summer heat, and a few small huts scattered around for family who want to stay over. It’s a place built for slow mornings, warm evenings, and a kind of peace that feels like it belongs to another world.

    In this dream life, we grow everything ourselves. Fruits, vegetables, citruses glowing in the greenhouse, and a lake filled with fish that shimmer under the sun. Ducks glide across the water like tiny boats, and somewhere far from the main house, for allergy reasons, sits a quiet beehive humming with life. We’d have goats, three cows, sheep, and chickens, each one part of the rhythm of the farm. And of course, the tenants who never pay rent: the cats. They’d wander around like tiny guardians, keeping the place clean of pests and pretending they own the land. A short‑haired German Shepherd would watch over everything, loyal and calm.

    The heart of the home would be the outdoor kitchen. When the weather turns gentle, we’d cook outside, letting the breeze carry the smell of spices and fresh herbs. I imagine a wood‑burning oven built with love, where I bake warm breads and sweet treats for my family. The kids would run freely across the property, stopping to pick fruits and vegetables straight from the trees and soil, their tiny hands helping us prepare meals that taste like sunshine and effort. They’d grow up knowing the magic of real food, the feel of earth, and the joy of being part of the process.

    And in the quiet moments, when the sun begins to set and the sky softens, my husband and I would walk together around the farm. Just the two of us, moving slowly through the life we built with our hands and our hearts. A simple, quiet life. A life full of love, nature, and the kind of calm that feels like a blessing. A lovely place to raise a family and a dream I carry gently, knowing that even if it never becomes real, it will always live beautifully in my imagination.

    Always…