Dreaming of Old Friends, Locked Gates, and Haunted Mansions: Exploring the symbols of memory, grief, and self-discovery

Dear Gabrielle,

Last night, I had a vivid dream—one of those that lingers long after you wake up.

The Dream

I visited a friend from primary school. We were best friends until our parents decided we should attend different schools. Her parents moved her to a better school with more promise, and our friendship ended in Grade 6. She was 13, and I was 14, though I often pretended to be 13 to avoid the shame of being older than most of our classmates.

In the dream, she worked in a large, impressive house and also had a daytime job. I don’t recall exactly why I visited, but I remember being in awe of the place. At the gate, I saw a long number—like a contact or code—and thought, “If I had that number, I could call the owner if I ever got stuck.” I immediately felt sick at the thought. This was where my best friend worked, and it felt wrong to think of it that way. A camera at the gate watched everything. I didn’t dare record the number with my phone.

Strangely, there were also red handwritten numbers in the sky—like crayon or marker—fading with the movement of the clouds. I wondered if it was an artificial sky. When the clouds moved and the sky shifted naturally, I decided it was real. The red numbers left stains, as if they had been rubbed off. I tried to understand them but failed.

Some of this happened as I first entered the compound, and some may have been later when I opened the gate for another visitor. My friend had trained me on how to open the house and the gate—pressing a button, then swiping. A lady approached the house, and I refused to let her in because I didn’t work there. She called the owner, who allowed her in and even complimented my firm decision. Suddenly, there was a storeroom near the gate that hadn’t been there earlier. From it, the woman retrieved a padlock and key.

The owner was confused about me opening the gate and asked where the employee was but didn’t make a big deal. I worried I’d placed my friend in trouble. I also wondered why she trained me to open the house. My job didn’t pay much, and a side gig like this could help, but I didn’t want a housekeeping job—even one this grand.

Later in the dream, I was suddenly wealthy—wealthy enough to buy the house. This time I could write down the gate number without raising suspicion. My best friend gave me a tour of the house, though now she felt like someone else. The compound had a high stone wall. Beside the mansion, there was an abandoned trailer with a white sack covering something—I couldn’t tell what. I made a mental note to check it out later. There was also another strange room, and a long line of apartments with a small gate on the far side of the compound. Someone was coming in slowly through that gate, but the dream ended before I could see who.

I thought how nice it would be to house my struggling family in those apartments, but quickly changed my mind. It would be too stressful.

As the tour continued, a lady appeared—either behind or beside me. The housekeeper was excited. She hadn’t seen the lady in ages, and now she’d “returned.” But then the housekeeper said something chilling: the woman had died long ago and was buried somewhere in the compound. She couldn’t remember where. My mind instantly went to the glass-windowed trailer and the sack. I suddenly didn’t want the house anymore. The spark had gone. I didn’t want a place haunted by ghosts.

Later in the dream, I visited my college best friend. We were roommates and remained close until an unexpected death knocked me off course. That loss shattered me. I withdrew from people, and over time, many friendships withered, including this one.

This college friend also worked in that same mansion in the evenings. She was considering relocating with the owner to a new place, even though it would make her daily commute harder. What struck me was the layout: the mansion stood right outside the window of my primary school friend’s room. I remember saying it would look nice if someone built a house there. But that space never existed. Her family had lived in municipal houses—small one-bedroom flats with shared spaces.

I don’t remember anything else from the dream. But the dream lingered.

The Dream Analysis

Houses and Compounds:
In dreams, a house often reflects the self—my emotional and mental state, my identity. A grand mansion might symbolize a future I’m drawn to, or potential I haven’t fully realized. The rooms and secret spaces might be parts of myself I haven’t dared explore yet.

Numbers and the Sky:
The red numbers—urgent, emotional—may be messages from my subconscious. Perhaps I’m afraid of forgetting something important: a promise I made, a memory I treasure, or even a lesson I’m still learning. My inability to recall them says more than the numbers themselves.

Gates, Access, and Boundaries:
The gates and permissions echo the lines I draw in real life—between what I deserve, what I fear, and what I feel guilty for wanting. Maybe this is about identity, and how I sometimes doubt whether I belong in the spaces I aspire to occupy.

Friends as Symbols:
The two best friends—one from childhood, one from adulthood—represent who I was and who I’ve become. The house connecting them both might be the thread of my personal journey, stitching together a girl’s lost innocence with a woman’s broken heart.

The Dead Woman and the Trailer:
This part chilled me the most. A ghost buried somewhere in the place I wanted to claim? That’s grief, personified. That’s memory refusing to be forgotten. Maybe this is my subconscious telling me: the grief is still here. Not to scare me. Not to stop me. But to remind me: you still need to heal.

Rejecting the House:
When I turned away from the house, I was choosing peace over illusion. It was a moment of clarity: I don’t want to build my future on land haunted by unspoken pain.

Family and Responsibility:
That brief thought—about letting family live in the apartments—followed by the quiet decision not to? That’s growth. I’m learning that love doesn’t always mean carrying everything. My peace matters, too.

Final Thoughts

This dream speaks of transformation, memory, and the silent echoes of grief. It reminded me of the friendships that shaped me, the trauma that cracked me open, and the healing that still needs space to unfold.

I am changing.
I am building.
I am learning what to let in—and what to keep out.

Not every house is meant to be mine.
Not every ghost needs to be feared.

Gabrielle, dreams don’t just tell stories.
They show us our soul.

If you ever read this—know that you’re allowed to feel it all. You’re allowed to walk away from what glitters but doesn’t nourish you. And please, keep track of your dreams. They are the whispers of your inner world.

Hopefully, you will never be as lost as I was when I wrote this.

With love, always—
Mum