Today someone tried to break into our house. We came home from Frankie’s birthday dinner at the Old Clarence to find our living room window ajar and back door wide open.

When the police came later to let us know that two houses down the road had just been burgled, they found our back door lock broken.

It’s not really a nice way to end a birthday, is it? Quite a contrast to the colourful banner and balloons that decorate our wall. Quite an unanticipated ending to a day that began with such an impossibly happy array of colours.

But it’s over now, and hopefully no one comes back to retrieve a lost shoe, or anything like that.

This reminds me of a dream I had back home in Malaysia. I dreamed that two men broke into our house, and chased me up the stairs. I stumbled into my room, heart beating its way into my throat, muscles loose with uncontrollable fear, and almost shut my door, only to be stopped by a pair of hands that wedged themselves through the gap.

I remember the sensation of feeling so scared, my hands couldn’t push the door shut fast enough, my legs couldn’t carry me fast enough, every second seemed like a million years of disbelieving horror.

Then I woke up.

Dreams really should not be made into reality.