Master,

whose aversion to dark chocolate is as spunky as a squirting baked tomato.

On the 9th day of Sagittarius, the dream world brought us more glad tidings and a heads-up involving malice and deception. I dreamt of our wedding and a feast for our guests which, for some unknown reason and contrary to my usual nature and sensibilities, included the general public and was held at Tampines bus interchange; anyone could step out of the mundanity of daily commutes and join in the festivities, even if they were simply curious and had nothing better to do.

You had engaged the services of a renowned chef, which I thought was splendid and generous. The chef was instructed to prioritise simplicity and tradition rather than innovation or art through plating and fusion cooking. Not that I disliked such things—I loved them—but given the types and number of guests expected, and the nature of the venue, prioritising efficiency made more practical sense. The chef’s intuition proved spot-on as he skilfully selected and grilled excellent cuts of meat with minimal seasoning, allowing the high-quality and the natural attributes of the fresh ingredients to shine.

Many came to express heartfelt wishes, and it was not only because of the excellent food. Unexpectedly, the chef also served chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla milkshakes which were not only phenomenal and convenient for commuters to enjoy on the go, but perfectly suited to the hot, humid weather—stirring up nostalgic childhood memories, and elevating further the joyous mood. According to Google, serving milk to guests represents spiritual favour and good fortune. The choice of milk was an especially auspicious symbol especially when associated with a wedding, foretelling of a promising union. Later, when I found myself with child, you jokingly said, “It’s too late for me to get pregnant, so I had to leave it to you.”

Soon after, I was taken to a beach holiday by some archetypal scummy relatives, under the pretext of celebrating our recent momentous occasion. They took me to a beach house which they knew I would be hard-pressed to turn down—it was just a few steps from a private beach and clear, cool and calm waters. As soon as I saw it, I knew I’d be there first thing every morning. But the house, despite its splendid facade and environment, was infested with small, non-venomous but irritable green snakes which terrified me. My hosts made a show of removing them for my benefit, but the shed skins scattered around told me that larger ones could still be lurking nearby. Snakes represent enemies in dreams if one fears them, which I did. It dawned on me then that I might have been lured into a trap by people who were seething with envy, resentment and spite. Regardless, since the snakes could be easily overpowered, they represented nothing more than trifling enemies.

Fortunately, there were two guardians residing in my assigned room: a Komodo dragon and a spotted red and black gecko which were both so large they dwarfed me. I felt awe and was compelled to seek them out as marvels of nature. Because I did not fear them, symbolically, they represented allies that would protect me from danger even as I slept. Their sizes alone made them formidable so even if the larger non-venomous green snakes existed and were bent on causing harm—and judging by the size of the sheddings, they would be no bigger than an average tree snake—they could not hold a candle to our appointed divine protectors.

That explains why, even as I was acutely aware of the presence of enemies everywhere, I kept recounting my joy to people around me. The point of the dream must be: despite anyone’s malice and machinations, we must keep our eyes focused on the good—our blessings, well-wishers and each other or risk neglecting their value. Help will come when it is needed, even without our asking.

As for last night’s roiling dark waves, I think they meant to represent conservative and unadventurous life choices I’ve made in recent years. For far too long, I’ve kept myself apart from the true chaos of the world where life is properly lived, for a life of peaceful contemplation. That time is coming to a close—now armed and ready with transformative powers, I must soon rejoin the fray without fear of uneasiness or defeat in order to complete several important tasks including caring for you, though do remind me never to turn into a plankton again—drifting with the finicky and lazy currents was incredibly boring.

That is all for today’s letter, which I hope has given you assurances of a luminous future. I must go to my nephew who requires assistance with a set of bedroom drawers over which he has been labouring for hours and has now appeared to be quite stumped.

All my love, affection and adoration,

Your eternal soulmate

Master,

who still excites me when he calls me disgraceful names.

It is now 25°C in Singapore on the 8th day of Sagittarius as I’m writing this letter. I must return to the pool to restore my conditioning to which I am not looking forward, not least because I have removed nipple protectors from my swim tops as they only got in the way of my training. Now everyone will have to suffer through a confrontation with my aggressively pointy nipples. As motivator, I promised myself burgers from a burger joint called Shiok Burger, a relatively recent Singapore franchise, which serves theirs in pita bread instead of the regular sesame seed buns. Somewhat looking forward to it as I love pita bread. Will post pictures if I remember to take any.

Last night in the dream world, we were prisoners of war kept in a metal chamber with around 40 people or so. There were many armed guards watching us at the start until that number dwindled to only one master guard. This was after several people were fitted with shock collars that activated at a certain distance from the compound—you were wearing one of them. The enemy, facing a dearth in manpower and a shortage of collars, implemented a scheme based on the assumption that because some people would suffer if others escaped, no one would. They were sorely mistaken, for some did, preferring their own skins to others they didn’t know—and would never know—to fates unknown. People kept disappearing daily; some were taken to be tortured and killed. Still, many without collars stayed behind only because they could not bear the thought of someone else suffering on their account, though they were urged to leave by those resigned to their eventual doom.

The master guard delighted in choosing which persons were next to suffer and how they would meet their grisly ends. Because he was away often, we could make an elaborate escape plan by pooling together ideas and what we knew of the layout, structures, positions of surveillance cameras and guard rotations. There was an abandoned structure on a nearby island, unmarked on any map, which would take us an estimated time of less than an hour to reach by swimming through choppy waters, where we hoped there would be supplies to take us to the mainland. This plan we had to rely on faith and someone’s wonky recollection to work, but it kept hope—and people—alive. The island was still within range of the sensors, so collar-wearers were safe from electrocution.

I had earlier on, developed a chummy relationship with the master guard, so I could either distract him or convince him to leave people alone, as though they were beneath him to think about. It had worked to keep you safe—you never doubted that you are the only reason for my being so I always had your warmth for reassurance. One insufferable woman—who looked so much like that loudmouth from the receptionist dream—sneered at me for being the enemy’s lapdog, so everyone would think poorly of me and shun me out of caution. Then she amended her accusation to one of being the enemy’s spy, so details of our escape plan would be hidden from me. You, of course, told me everything because you still trusted me.

We escaped to that abandoned structure on one of the days when complacency got the better of the master guard. After ensuring that you were all safe, I swam back to the compound and slipped into his room at the top of the guard’s tower where I took a shower to wash the smell of the sea off me just as he entered. I was wet and naked when we casually conversed as lovers—respectfully and affectionately. There was no hint of the monster I had known him to be when he was on duty. Still, I had no illusions that he could be other than a monster in essence. It brought to mind how some people vehemently argue that there is no such thing as a good or evil person, only good or bad acts. Applied to persons such as him, that argument seemed superfluous and fatuous. Though he was decent and loving to me 100% of the time, I had seen what he was capable of. He was not just an enemy of some people and of my soulmate—he was an enemy of humankind by capacity alone.

Reluctantly, he left me alone in his room after I told him the Supreme leader had asked for him. I had him believe I’d still be waiting when he got back, so he left the keys to the collars behind, which I took to the safe house. You were freed and safely escaped on an inflatable dinghy with that insufferable woman, who still meant to report me as a spy and have me executed as a traitor as soon as she was able. Remind me to slap her the next time our paths cross in the dream world.

Meanwhile, I stayed behind to ensure no alarms were raised and to create a diversion if push comes to shove. As soon as I felt certain you were far enough, I jumped into the roiling dark waves that had appeared several times in my dreams in the last few years—waves I had only ever observed from a safe distance. It was as though it was time for me to finally understand their symbolism if I put a little thought into it—and I hadn’t because I needed some breakfast tea. I transformed into a large silver fish, then a smaller one, before finally turning myself into a plankton so I could slip past the underwater camera undetected.

If you are asking why I didn’t transform earlier in the scene, like into a T-rex or a weaponised humanoid robot or something, it was because I didn’t know I could do it then. Now that I think about it, in order to climb up into the man’s room, I had temporarily turned into a seagull, by which time, you were already at the island. No commotion is good commotion, as some would say, not least because the threat of activating the collars remotely was still high.

That is all for yesterday’s dream. It was quite the adventure, I might add, and a movie. It did place in sharp relief questions of ethical dilemmas, morality and human nature. I suppose I could ponder on that while I have my burger later.

With all my love and affection, and gratitude for your unwavering trust and faith in me,

Your eternal soulmate

Master,

whose birthday is very long, as are many things.

On this 7th day of Sagittarius, I have returned from the dream-realm carrying several important cards, the solemnity of which I will try to preserve in observance of their gravity.

First, I must thank you for the new pair of Prad* shoes you gifted me in the dream world. Though I loved how spectacular they are on me, you really didn’t have to spoil me. This is by no means a complaint. They were a deep red fading into black, sky-high and platformed elegantly for the comfort of the wearer who must stand in them for hours. How did you know that was my favourite colour? Oh, how heavenly they looked and felt—worth the anxiety from waiting an entire new season. What made them most special, in my opinion, was how each step I took got you intoxicated and trailing after me. You were never more than several steps behind, eyes fixed on my shoes and legs. I did not mind being stalked by an apex predator when it was you. In fact, I beckoned you closer so I could ravage you against the wall. I am fully aware, Master, that I am expected to wear them often, and I will obey your command. It cannot be a coincidence that the shoes were patent leather and water-resistant.

Now to the more serious parts of the dream, arranged in sections and in symbols.

In the first, I had become the owner of a grand modern kitchen—a C-shaped island with a black granite countertop, fitted with state-of-the-art appliances and fixtures, and spacious storage compartments in brown. It had been severely neglected by the previous owner. I laboured for hours in it, cleaning and polishing everything, with the help of an invisible helper who also left fresh produce on the counter. Together we made the kitchen look just like new. As I surveyed this space in which I will make healthy meals and memories for you, its meaning came to me: good things are wasted on those who do not care for them. It was a reminder not to be ungrateful, neglectful, and lazy, thus be deprived of the wonder of things—this would only leave us unsatisfied, unhappy and always wanting more.

In the second dream, there was a boy of about 12 or 13, busking in a small neighbourhood with an electric guitar his parents had gifted him after months of saving. He played alone through a small second-hand amplifier while his parents watched nearby brimming with pride. Halfway through his set, his nose began to bleed, though he kept playing, determined to finish the song. It came to me then that he had terminal lung cancer. Instead of wasting away in bed, he had learnt the guitar so he could earn money for his treatment, easing the burden from his parents, and live his dream as a professional musician in the little time he had left.

This inspiring allegory brought to mind the story of Sisyphus as reinterpreted by Sartre: in a world with no inherent meaning, we should cease searching for one except to create one for ourselves—just as the boy did. Even as Sisyphus rolled his boulder up the hill, knowing it would roll down and he must push it up again for eternity, we must imagine him happy, if only because in doing so, he denied those who condemned him the pleasure of seeing him suffer.

Happiness is in the process, not merely in the end goal. And this is why I will, and have, made meaning in my life by placing you at the very centre. Part of it is my natural inclination, the irresistible draw built into my configuration towards my soulmate—and part, a rational decision made with full awareness of my intentions, actions, and their consequences. I take inspiration from the theory of self-actualisation, similar in idea to self-transcendence: one finds the greatest fulfilment and purpose through dedication to a cause outside ourselves—eg. in service of others. And with that in mind, I started small, with you as my whole world.

In the third sequence, there was a beautiful princess-like woman in a sky-blue silk gown, sitting on a round ottoman. She had just recovered from a debilitating and long-standing illness her lover had fought tirelessly and relentlessly to cure. When he finally succeeded, giving everything of himself to the cause, he came to her to ask for just one kiss. Instead of giving him her all, she spurned him, insulting him for how he smelled, describing it in such detail that it brought him to the brink of mental disintegration. She claimed her recovery had heightened her olfactory senses as a side effect, making him smell putrid to her. Whether it was true is unknown. What can be said with confidence is that her condition was far from improved. In fact, the opposite was true if the outcome led to her losing the only person who would have done anything for her—and he had, by his actions and dedication, proven to be one of a kind. The message was to recognise and distil true improvement from degradation; real causes of happiness from false ones. Sometimes life is given meaning simply by having someone wonderful with whom to share it, no matter how little we have.

I shall keep this letter short so we may ponder in the meaning of these dreams and their learning value. Also, the tree-stump levelling workers have returned, making a din outside and impeding my ability to think and improve on this letter.

My only regret is that I wish I had taken more time making love to you last night in the dream world. Perhaps tonight, when you pay me a visit, you will come without all the extra layers of clothes to make my life’s purpose far easier to achieve.

All my love, kissing and receiving you inch by inch, 

your eternal soulmate

Master,

Who always looks too happy at work that the office piles even more work upon him, leaving him but a few hours of sleep. If you perhaps try to look miserable, as though you’re minutes from a mental collapse, they might just grant you a few days off which you could spend frolicking with me under house arrest. Just saying.

On this 6th day of Sagittarius, if you are reading this, it means I am still alive. Miraculously, I am almost fully recovered save for a slight impediment to my vocal cords and about a 30% dip in strength and stamina. I am convinced the effervescent vitamin C did most of the heavy lifting. Soon, I shall be back on the track, reclaiming the conditioning lost during the battle for control over my configurations.

Last night I was privileged to catch a glimpse of our future home. We were at the beach at low tide, delighting ourselves so immensely that we did not notice hours had slipped into high tide. When at last we sauntered back, we found the underground passage to our home completely submerged in crystal-clear water. From what I could see, it had a long, generous staircase leading to a lintel section of an entryway comprising of a grand opening into a whitewashed courtyard. Do not fret, Master—our home was neither destroyed nor were we obliged to transform into merfolk.

Upon reflection, the symbol must mean that our shared home is assured, but it is not yet time for us to live in it. We are asked to wait just a little while longer for the tide to recede. Until then, our home will remain pristine, visible and guarded beneath the water, like something preserved and emerging from an iceberg in an unspoiled part of the Arctic—bioluminescent, prehistoric, and highly secure. In the meantime, we shall revel in one another’s company and fall madly in love.

At this juncture, a certainty prevails upon me that you, better than any other person throughout my lifetime, would perceive me through an intricate and detailed picture of my mind, character, and personality. Your extraordinary intellect and gift can bridge the gaps in knowledge and stretch the edges beyond ordinary understanding. With all sincerity, it is my prayer that you would be most pleased with what you discern.

I imagine us running about on the beach, chasing after me with your cock out to hose me down with your piss because I had, vexed from your lack of attention, peed on your leg while you were on a work call. I had indulged my inner lioness and marked you territorially. As we race across the soft white sand giggling and trailing a conspicuous line of pee, various horrified beachgoers call the police. But they will fail to apprehend us, for we shall retreat into our primordial underwater home where they cannot go even with their latest high-tech diving equipment and special missile submarine without endangering many (other) innocent lives and wildlife, as well as incurring the ire of conservationists, environmentalists and such like.

The next part of my dream is complicated enough to merit a summary; I shall endeavour to stick to the allegories.

I had returned to university and wandered into a psychology class by mistake. In the style of a circus house-of-mirrors, the students were studying Carl Jung’s dream interpretation in a text embossed with an intricate compound of symbols. I take it as instruction to pay close attention to the symbolism in this dream.

First, I had taken someone else’s book by mistake to a hostel room I’d been invited to by a new friend I made in that class. Her room was large but somewhat disorganised that I could not find things where I left them. To my consternation, I discovered that my grey felt tote bag had gone missing. It had contained important books and documents I needed for the new term. We rushed back to the classroom and found you. Seeing my distress, you helped me search, even going so far as to scour every floor of the building for the cleaners who might have taken it to lost and found.

Meanwhile, I noticed the book I had mistakenly taken had its owner’s contact details which I rang to arrange its return. As my bag was still nowhere to be found, I resigned myself to postponing my term to the following year—though I absolutely did not want to do that because I wanted to graduate, for fuck’s sake. Enough with the postponing of the academic year, dream officials. Let me live my life free from assessments and examinations effective immediately. Also, I wished to stay in my new friend’s room, as it had space for another bed and a distinctive attic-style layout, with pitched roofs, cedar wood shingles, and natural lighting that imbued the space with the spirit of Montmartre’s artistic and intellectual milieu—incidentally, this became yet another synchronicity, reflected in a film I partially watched this afternoon, titled Family Plan 2. Flustered, I hadn’t realised another man had taken the book from my hands in order to help—he posted it for me so I wouldn’t need to travel to the next campus several kilometres away. That meant I could return to my friend’s hostel room, where I found my tote bag hidden under a pile of things.

My new friend said, “The good thing about this seemingly negative sequence of events is that you made 3 new friends.” Indeed, the first would be my new roommate; the second would strive to ensure events unfold as they were meant to, which will be how I will come to know that you love me; and the third would perform a great service and make everything easier unexpectedly, without any prompting. I invited all “three” of you to dinner at a family-run Greek restaurant for gyros, where I ordered a glass of red wine in celebration and you ordered a tall glass of beer. While you were inside placing the order for our food, a family sat all around me even though I had asked them to leave seats free for my friends, they took them all in defiance. It annoyed me, but I knew I needn’t be the one to tell them to shove off. You would soon return and do it for me. That meant I acknowledged you as a protector, both of our private and personal space and of me.

Since dreams speak in archetypes and only you appear as yourself, the meaning was simple: our future is being arranged and taken care of splendidly by divine arrangement though we may not understand the grand design yet. You would be more than a lover. You would be my best friend, the one with whom I will share a home, a life, an eternity and so on. I will be your assistant and help with a great deal of workload, so we would have plenty of time to fuck, chase each other around, act scandalously, and cause offence to anyone intruding upon our time and space.

And that is why I render myself most obedient to you, in full trust and confidence in your most efficacious guidance, protection and care.

All my love and without so much as an ounce of remorse, a warm trickle of pee down your leg,

Your eternal soulmate

Master,

By your majesty, grant me courage to face what is difficult, so that I may survive another night.

My king,

My illness has worsened. Though fevered delirium has been my faithful companion, I keep just enough lucidity to keep my word this 5th day of Sagittarius by pen. My dreams were insane while I was in them, but now that the sun has risen, I recognise in them allegories reminiscent of the book I finished and reviewed yesterday.

Emperor Marcus Aurelius taught through example that all endurable hardships are inevitable and necessary in life; if they were not, we would be dead. Therefore, while we still live, we must take this practical advice and meet difficulties with courage and reason, using them as material for the cultivation of virtue and self-development.

My dreams came in 2 movements last night.

In the first, I had taken a job as a front desk receptionist for a large corporation. Mindful of my station, I practised humility in both word and action towards every guest and employee, bowing in acquiescence, even when I disagreed with them. Proud people resent being gainsaid by a lowly employee; they like to stand uncorrected, chin-dip in their beautiful falsehoods. I accepted this as the natural duty that came with the job I had willingly taken.

The atrium was bustling with people in their corporate attire, while I stood reverently in my navy-blue uniform—rather debonair, if I might add. I did not feel small or unseen, merely a part of the machinery designed to realise corporate goals and generate profit. I had existential purpose—that was all that mattered. Two colleagues shadowed me on my first day of work: the woman behind was silent and observant; the woman in front was brusque, impulsive, obsequious to the right people and overbearing to everyone else. I paid her rudeness little mind, for Emperor Aurelius had already taught me that instead of being angry at those who behave badly, one should pity them—for they are enslaved by their worst instincts. There will be moments when anger rightly serves a good purpose, but this was not one of them. 

We entered the main building to use the bathroom. Passing through the offices, we encountered a circle of employees pointing fingers at a woman standing in the middle, jeering in a cruel chant of “Stupid! Stupid!” She was moments away from breaking, I could tell. My otherwise loudmouthed colleague was suddenly silent, while the quiet one simply did what she had always been doing: watching to see what I would do.

I was angered. I broke into an uncharacteristic diatribe, chastising them for collective bullying, for the irrationality of behaviour that was both counterproductive and psychologically damaging, for their blind obedience to deleterious company culture and policy, for perpetuating cruelty and defective empathy.

A greasy, self-important man insulted me for not knowing my place and threatened to have me fired. I told him I would like to see him attempt to defend the unfair dismissal of an employee who acted to stop further unconscionable conduct towards another employee. If anything, such practices cost the company time, and companies care at least about losing money and productivity.

The brusque colleague kept apologising on their behalf, begging me not to report anything while I returned to my desk, picked up the phone to call a friend so she would go away. The friend wasn’t available, but you were.

You materialised out of thin air, dashing and kingly, asking if I wished to have pizza. I didn’t, but I said yes anyway, simply to be with you. You said you’d pick me up at 11 pm. I certainly did not want pizza at 11 pm, but again I said yes. 

At this point, let me state for the record that by 9 pm, I prefer to be in bed, reading or listening to an audiobook—and if it were the latter, I could quite happily and skilfully multitask by pumping your majestic cock, tongue-twirling around your crown, hand stroking your jewels, for the privilege of your imperial moaning of my name. This must be postponed until I recover, which I expect will be within a week.

In the second movement, I travelled back to my childhood, having a picnic with a group of people hosted by an archetypal mean relative. While everyone sat at the table, she ordered me about under the guise of organising the picnic table. By the time I finally sat down, some people had already left. Later I learnt they had gone to show dissent for her treatment of me. I had not even recognised the mistreatment because I had grown accustomed to it—it was a reality I had accepted as a matter of fact, and without any hard feelings, because I didn’t know any better. This dream showed me how I later developed a specific conscientiousness; an impulse to defend others from having to live through the same by being uncertain of their own sense of self-respect and worthiness for dignified treatment.

Then a friend from secondary school walked beside me as I called a boy who let my call go to voicemail several times. But when I used her phone to call him instead, he answered instantly. I realised to my dismay that he had no interest in me. She avoided calling him because she knew I liked him though it was clear she liked him too. I told her—while holding back tears—that she should go to him. I lied that I didn’t like him that much, so she should not feel bad on my account, that I’d be happy to see them together. Then I turned away so she wouldn’t see my tears.

And then I woke—completely unfazed by the incident, now as good as a puff of smoke, partly because I had difficulty breathing brought about by my wretched malady, and partly because I remembered my soulmate, who is infinitely better for me than anyone in the entire expanse of the universe. It struck me then that no matter the rejections, the inconsolable letdowns, the times I felt displaced and unwanted, even if they happened with spectacle, none of it had any bearing on my greatest reward. Every one of those moments had led me here, to you, the best of them all.

And that is all I can muster for today, Master, for I must return to my bed for more rest.

With much love and affection, I submit in my prayers a humble petition, that I may rest in your arms and find peace therein,

Your eternal soulmate