Sashimi on the Stairs
I had many dreams before I quit my government job. As the day of leaving the job approached, the content of the dreams I had also changed, both in texture and intensity.
In the public restroom
At the beginning of this particular dream, I walked into a public restroom. When I wanted to head out, I lost my way. I walked around, only to accidentally get into men’s restroom. How strange, didn’t I walk in through a door? Where is that door? I was really confused. Before long, I found the door. The door was closed by someone, no wonder I couldn’t find it, I thought.
The supervisor and the sashimi on the stairs
I opened the door, ready to leave. And in front of me was a set of stairs upwards. I didn’t know when, but as I walked the stairs, my then supervisor appeared. He walked fast ahead of me, and I tried to match his pace.
Suddenly, I noticed pieces of salmon sashimi were scattered on the stairs. It was a mess and I avoided the pieces of fish flesh while catching up with my supervisor. Then a group of people walked down the stairs, saw the sashimi, and yelled to me, “Clean them up!” I yelled back, “It’s not mine!” They didn’t push further.
My interpretation of the dream
I was lost in a restroom, but there was no one else in it, which may represent how I felt about my circumstance: I felt lost but I kept the feelings to myself. When people asked me why I quit, I only told them this job wasn’t what I wanted, it didn’t suit me, as if I knew what I wanted and what suited me. However, while I initially lost my way out, I found the door. The door out, was the door out of my government job.
My supervisor walked fast ahead of me fast in the dream, and he did so in the real world. He adapted to the job well, he had passion, he took initiative to do extra work, and big heads liked him. He is a role model in that line of work.
As for sashimi, gross as it was on the stairs, it is one of my favorite food. The government work sucks because of its rigid environment and absurd culture, but I didn’t hate the job content that much. I could even say I was fond of some part of it. It’s just like the sashimi. The environment in which the sashimi was treated made it sour, messy, and unpleasant. Maybe that’s why my brain randomly picked it (something I like) from my memories and made it on the stairs.
In the end, even though I liked sashimi, it’s still a mess, and I wasn’t at fault. So, when the group of strangers told me to clean it up, I refused. I refused to accept others' mess. Someone had to take care of it, but not me. It reflected my state as it was.