Airport Terror Attack

Plane, “terrorist attack”. Lulu. even the image of lulu the filipino yoga woman.
In a strange place, a part of which is an airport. I am walking with a man i think, going outside where the planes are parked close together like cars.

Through huge wall windows i see the planes. I somehow know that one will explode, or something along these lines. Almost as if i am inside the job. one plane starts backing up slowly and i think 2 small explosions happen. Nothing dramatic. But the plane keeps going backwards, gently hitting the building. Some people here and there, i like saying to them “terrorist attack”.
I am outside, on my way to the left of the building. Trees, little patches of garden. Some people here and there all going to the same destination.

I arrive at a huge cafeteria. A very long table, the people were asking what was that, i again say “terrorist attack” and i play with the pronunciation and it is fun.
Maybe someone asks me why i am here. I feel i know so much more than anyone else about something. A general feeling.

I tell them i am looking for my daughter, or maybe i say i am looking for my children.
Then a group of children come to me. the eldest boy is 12 and the youngest is a new born. I remember the two year old baby girl as well.

In total perhaps 7 children. They all share the same look, not very pretty, arabic gene. I feel it in my bone and feel guilty. These are my children. I carefully touch or peck the eldest’s cheek, and the ones in the middle. They all look at me with love and embarrassment that they are not “pretty”, hoping that i will love them anyway.
I get lost by this and turn to the little ones. I pick up the new born. He is so tiny. I pick him up carefully yet he is uncomfortable and is ready to throw up. i try to hold him differently. Then the little girl catches my attention, and i feel love for her. i feel she wants me to pick her up too. and i plan it and end up carrying both babies in my arms.

I think next is when i go and search for uu
I seem to have left her at a drop off play place.
After a while i find the children. Shelves of children. It went on and on. it didn’t feel weird at all.
I stopped at the very last “shelves” and must have said where is my daughter,
She answered me, here i am, and she was on the top shelves. Much older, about 6 or 7. awkward face. I picked her up lovingly.

There were people who were supervising the kids, entertaining them with songs,
Like from the video my first album.
I also picked up julia’s pink piano keyboard, and it was making noise. I turned it off.
The woman came to me angrily and said we have to leave now. she is almost done with her work. Half an hour left. 6:30??
I get angry and firmly tell her no, i paid, we will stay. The piano is off.
She leaves us be.

18.04.13

Next day, liza bajj’s husband is dead. I see the picture of her eldest daughter. Beautiful girl. I connect with her like i did years ago (fb pics). I think maybe it was her on the shelf, and not my daughter.