Till I finally managed to get out of the house

Woke up from a strange dream with vivid details. Thesis was involved and… my roommate.
Data gathering. My respondents were dispersed. I was on a plane heading to the next respondent. My roommate was seated next to me. A show was ongoing in front, probably for entertainment.
Perhaps, it failed to amuse me. I transfered to another seat, the one near the window and looked outside. The plane was going on so fast I could see the details of the wind — some white-ish dashes, perhaps drizzle. The ride was steady but I began to worry that it would, soon enough, end.
I looked at my roommate who was my seatmate in the dream. She was calm. I scanned the other passengers’ faces, they were calm. For some reason, I wasn’t. I fixed my gaze out the window again, expecting turbulence.
Then, it happened: the wind was still strong and in drizzle when the plane rolled on its side. The wing scraped through the brick roofs, pieces of it flying in the air. I know the pilot was trying to regain balance.
Once more, I looked at the others. They were still calm. My roommate who was my seatmate in that ride was eating popcorn. While they were watching the show, in that plane, I already arrived on the brink of panic.
The plane crashed. The pilot crashed it intentionally in some building-like wall. The window next to me was open, and, in panic, I climbed out of it.
Was outside and was already glad when I realised that I was not able to get my bags, so I went to the door and headed back in. Not wanting to join the commotion, I decided to sit and let others do their tasks. Without knowing, I fell asleep.
There was no light when I woke up. It feels like a long time has passed. There were vines and cobwebs inside. There were also litters and broken seats and disorder. There were dust and moss as well. I edged forward and retrieved my bag; luckily, it was still there.
I was alone, and I was, yes, scared.
Holding my bag, I immediately went to the door. It surprised me then: the plane, the thing that crashed on a building wall, concrete, was inside an old, abandoned wood house. There were holes in the roof. Some wood floors were missing. There was no one around.
I walked on till I finally managed to get out of the house. I stood near the door but did not go down the stairs. There were men outside. I know they were peasants, the way they tended to the rice grains.
I was watching them but not long after that, a tricycle arrived and a woman with long, grizzly hair appeared. She went up the ladder, straight to the house, unmindful of my presence near her door.
The tricycle was leaving so I ran and yelled. Maybe the driver heard me; he stopped on the corner. I walked straight to him and asked him to bring me to the plaza. I do not know the place, and panic was welling inside me once more.
The driver stared through me. Confused, but not saying anything back.
It was at that precise moment when I woke up, again. This time in my room. I was groggy and surprised to discover everything in darkness. It feels like, for a moment, I don’t know where I am and I am not certain what I want — coffee, chocolates, or rice meal.
It feels like I am living an extension of the dream. Like my dreams and the other dreams within those dreams are past lives, and I did not survive the fall. And we’re all trap here in a ceaseless cycle of death and life and incarnation.
I can’t shake off the possibilities, but it feels like being transported in various times and various planes, and this exact moment when I am typing this post is simply one of those.
If you would ask me, I am exhausted. Like I never slept at all.
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