Far from being sympathetic, a college friend actually envies my condition of constant non-sleep whenever I (sort of but not really) pout and complain of having gone on with no more than 120 minutes of peace. For once, she said, she wants to pull an all-nighter so that she can read more instead of cramming in class. I guess nobody can fully understand the physical and mental exhaustion that comes with insomnia other than those who spend their nights tracing lines in their ceilings.
True enough, I've spent the past few weeks bombarding the Universe with silent pleas for sleep and found that the Universe likes acceding to this request at around 4 or 5 in the morning which is not healthy but currently cannot be helped. I use the time to think instead and a couple of nights ago, I thought of sleep.
Discounting bouts of insomnia, I have no difficulty with sleeping. Unlike some people who have a hard and uncomfortable time sleeping in another house, I can pretty much sleep anywhere without having to ward off terrible homesickness. Except for this one time.
Once, a distant aunt invited us to sleep over at her house to keep my cousin company. I, having felt the need to see another set of ceilings, readily acquiesced, feeling luckier than the rest of my sisters who answered seconds too late.
I remember eating dinner with my aunt and cousin. I remember playing outside and chasing pavements. I remember cleaning up and retiring to bed right after. And I remember having received the shock of my life after I found out that my cousin actually shares her room with another cousin: her (gasp) brother.
Now, I always knew I was too old for my age. Even at that time, I was a too-self-conscious little kid who had four sisters and zero brothers, who trusted no other man other than her dad and who, at that age, had no interest, whatsoever, of fostering any sort of friendship with a boy. Any boy.
Still, being the overthinker, I figured it'd be best to act cool and poised about it, pray for the sleep gods to kidnap me and get out first thing in the morning. It probably would have worked had he not started actually talking to me as if we knew each other and suggested we play and get to know each other. (Understand that I grew up a rather paranoid, overreacting kid.)
At this point, even my (female) cousin couldn't ignore the tears threatening to fall and she called her mom to tell her about it. My aunt, having sensed my very apparent discomfort suggested that I calm down and informed me that my (male) cousin would be sleeping outside. The insensitive boy told her he wouldn't and even implied we'd have to get over this initial hostility.
But this was too much for my innocent little mind and composure to take so I ran to the living room and sat down against the wall. I had forgotten my glasses; I was almost completely blind, I had made a fool of myself andI had nowhere to sleep. But I was safe.
And then of course, the dog got me.
They had a huge dog. Black, menacing and utterly unfriendly. (Think of the Grim) I've always been afraid of him. This fear was reinforced by the knowledge that even if I know I shouldn't run, I would, and I am not fit to last five seconds. I remembered seeing his eyes and tongue before closing my eyes to wish for a quick death that of course, thankfully never happened.
I racked my brains to remember what happened next, but I couldn't. For a moment, the recollection seemed surreal to me, and I seriously, seriously half-wondered whether it was real or a figment of my imagination.
And then I realized that pretty soon this moment, too, would feel like nothing more than a dream and only I would be able to half-remember the blurry fickleness of time. Already I can name half a million memories that are real only as I think them to be; almost as if the reality of life depends on the grips of memory. It's important to never take a moment for granted, to live it, instead, because memory only remembers so much. All we can ever do is guarantee that those things we don't remember can remain unremembered for they do not warrant lament and regret in hindsight.
Yes, not sleeping drains the life out of me but sometimes, staying awake reminds me of it.
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