If you open the door to apartment B10, cross the narrow living room and enter the bedroom, you can find her awake under her blankets, staring straight up at the ceiling, thinking about the strange yet familiar dream that had snatched her dear sleep away. In her dream, she was travelling up a hill on a bus that would take her home. It was the same bus that she used to take every other weekend, it was the same route and it was the same bus conductor who handed her the ticket.
She remembered how she used to let her face out the window so she could feel the freezing air beat up against it as the bus made its way up the hill. She remembered the familiar fragrance of the purple flowers that blossomed on the trees that covered either sides of the narrow road. She remembered the faces of the people who were making their way back home after a day’s work at the factory. She remembered how she would wave at the security guard at the factory as the bus crossed its gates. And now she lies on her bed, thinking about the dream in which she relived that beautiful part of her life again.
She dreamt about how she would get off the bus with her backpack and cross the hanging bridge to get home. She dreamt about her dog, who would be waiting in the garden for her, ready to knock her down so that he can give her the first hug. She dreamt about her dad, who would scold her dog off of her because now it’s his turn to hug. He would take her hand and escort her to the dining room where hot tea and her favourite snacks would be waiting for her.
Home… She sighed and she felt her heart grow heavy, filling her eyes with tears. Because, that was her home, and that home is gone.



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