Last night I dreamed I was running late for an exam. It was raining and I was 14 again—tall, scrawny, and awkward.

I flagged a cab down but no one stopped, not even the tricycles passing by. Finally, a car stopped and I saw my elementary classmate’s mom waving at me.

“Hop in…”, she said.

I did, thinking I could get a cab faster if I’m at the highway.

“Where are you headed?”, she asked.

“School. I’m late for religion class.” I murmured, looking at the window, not really worried that I was 30 minutes late. 

In a wink, my classmate’s mom morphed into a two headed monster, with fangs as long as kingdom come.

“You really don’t care about religion, don’t you? If you did you wouldn’t be late… You’re never late for classes you like, right?”, the monster snarled at me.

And then I woke up, vibrating, not because of fear but because my phone was ringing.

I cut the call off even if it was the boy. I wasn’t in the mood to talk. Not after that dream. I see the monster every now and then but never with talks about religion. Often times about serious relationships, my parents, but never religion.

I’ve never cared for religion since way back my elementary years. I don’t go to church, I don’t worship any gods, and I’m fine with it. What gives?