UnScene #7

UnScene #7:  I have insomnia sometimes.  I'd love to easily fall asleep.  What if there's a person who didn't want to fall asleep?

The Problem with Sleep

There’s this girl.

She has a problem with falling asleep.  Not in the usual way that people might think.  When we say she has a problem with falling asleep, we mean that she doesn’t want to fall asleep.  The main reason behind which is that she doesn’t want to wake up.

Let’s take the case of last Tuesday night.  Tuesday was a holiday.  Monday was terrible, and she fell asleep the moment she lay on the bed after dutifully brushing her teeth and brushing her hair.  She had looked forward to falling asleep the whole Monday long.  And then she woke up on Tuesday morning.

“No,” she groaned. 

“No, I don’t want to wake up, it’s so horrible to be awake,” she thought.

She spent her Tuesday holiday slowly, taking her time.  She didn’t bother to change out of her pyjamas until she felt she really needed to shower, around noontime.  She made herself a nicely heavy late lunch which she thought was enough for three people to eat.  She spent the rest of the afternoon eating all of it; some while watching TV, some while aimlessly surfing the internet, and some while dutifully working on the preparations for work the next day.  She alternately brewed tea and coffee and sipped them while watching rented videos – all romantic comedies.  When the last of the videos’ credits were rolling, she looked up at the clock and saw that it was 1:30 a.m. and she felt a bit sleepy.

And that’s the problem.  She didn’t want to sleep.

“No,” she moaned, “I don’t want to wake up again.”

But she turned off the TV and got off the couch anyway and dutifully did the dishes, brushed her teeth and her hair, put on her pyjamas, switched off the lights, and went to bed. 

And cried, silently.  And fell asleep.

A Lullaby for Me

My insomnia began when I was fourteen years old, around the time when my father had to leave to work in the provinces. The promise of a vastly greater income and a better life for the family was too good to pass up. Every night during the first month, I cried myself to sleep. The bond I have with my father can’t be defined by mere words. I will not even attempt to describe so personal a connection. The tears of a child are no small matter either. When you are young, every tear you shed is honest and solid, coming not only from your eyes, but struggling from somewhere deep inside the chest and clawing its way out of the back of the throat. Only a child understands genuine pain. And only in a child’s pained spirit can true sleeplessness begin.

Having insomnia is painful in many ways difficult to explain. If you have ever felt complete bodily fatigue, insomnia is at least ten times as agonizing. Imagine being fully aware of your entire body, every bone and blood cell running through every little capillary, and at the same time being fully conscious that there is no rest for you. Your bed, pillows, and blanket, no matter how soft and warm and comfortable, would seem like a cold stone slab with thumb tacks and sharp stones spread over its surface. Every little noise is like a shout or an explosion in your ears. Yes, it feels like you are over-sensitized, as if you have acquired an entirely new set of perceptions. It should be great, but your body starts to feel pain. Not the pain of being wounded or hit or beat up, but a slow and solemn sensation that spreads like fog from inside the top of your skull to the tips of your fingers and toes. The mind becomes a battlefield of a million warring thoughts that can’t be silenced no matter what kind of meditation, focus and concentration, or millions upon millions of sheep jumping over the fences of a million farms. Silent suffering. You end up crying sometimes in desperation, talking to yourself and to the cacophony in your head, "Shut up, let me sleep! Why won’t you let me sleep?!" Sometimes I win the battles, but more often than not, I lose. I try to fall asleep around midnight; just close my eyes and get comfortable, toss and turn a bit. Upon opening them again and glancing at the clock, I see that three hours had passed with me just lying there fully awake but with my eyes closed. In a short while, the alarm clock would start ringing and I just want to scream with frustration.

Whenever I encounter the question, "If you had three wishes, what would they be?" One of my answers will always be "untroubled sleep". People always take sleep for granted. It’s just part of their lives, it happens everyday, so what. Many don’t realize just how precious it is. Try asking any person who works his bones off every damn day and could not sleep at night. He will tell you what kind of relief sleep is - a cool, clean, fresh fountain of water in the parched, scorching desert. There ought to be something that will help me make this wish come true - a lullaby tailored for me to grant me rest. I only want this much, only sleep. If I ever hear such a magic lullaby, I hope it puts me to such blissful sleep that I would never wake up ever again.

(posted elsewhere 18 Jan 2006)

Noise

How can anyone begin to explain the value of silence? Some people can’t stand it. They need to constantly fill up those silent spaces with some kind of noise. Mundane, trivial, unnecessary noise like, “How are you doing?” “The weather seems fine lately.” They don’t mean anything. They are said because nothing else is there to be said and because people feel that something ought to be said. It’s pathetic how people just can’t shut up. What for? If there is nothing to say, why say anything at all? Do they only want to hear the sound of their own voice? Is it a comfort? Do they feel affirmed and alive when they hear themselves talking? If so, then it is the poorest possible affirmation.


People move in the everyday cacophony of daily routine. Familiarity is comfortable; it makes them feel that they belong, or accustomed somehow, adjusted. When people hear the kettle whistling, it’s a signal that means they can have hot morning coffee now. The blaring horns and gnarls and groans of traffic dictate their time-tables; they set their clocks by its habits. The florid choric voices of other people at the work place are not surprising. “Did you hear about so and so?” “I did this and that yesterday, so today I’m going to do this and that.” “Would you believe that he and she were so on and so forth?” If you don’t care to participate, people would end up talking about you. All their noises will now be aimed at your back like so many daggers.


I have sought silence all my life. In fact, every night before I sleep and every morning when I wake I regret being alive to hear all the noises around me. I don’t need nor do I want to be the receptacle of others’ loves, hates, fears, and insecurities. I have plenty of those on my own, thank you very much. The only escape available is sleep, and even in sleep the noises are still there, like ghosts haunting your brightest, most hidden rooms. Is the only solution adaptation? Is there no other, better escape route? I ask people sometimes, if you were to lose one of your five basic senses, what would it be? My answer is immediate and without even thinking I’d say, I’d rather be deaf.

(posted elsewhere 17 Jan 2006)

The Problem with Sleep

There’s this girl.

She has a problem with falling asleep. Not in the usual way that people might think. When we say she has problem with falling asleep, I mean that she doesn’t want to fall asleep. The main reason behind which is that she doesn’t want to wake up.

Let’s take the case of last Tuesday night. Tuesday was a holiday. Monday was terrible, and she fell asleep the moment she lay on the bed after dutifully brushing her teeth and brushing her hair. She had looked forward to falling asleep the whole Monday long. And then she woke up on Tuesday morning.

“No,” she groaned.

“No, I don’t want to wake up, it’s so horrible to be awake,” she thought.

She spent her Tuesday holiday slowly, taking her time. She didn’t bother to change out of her pyjamas until she felt she really needed to shower, around noontime. She made herself a nicely heavy late lunch which she thought was enough for three people to eat. She spent the rest of the afternoon eating all of it; some while watching TV, some while aimlessly surfing the internet, and some while dutifully working on the preparations for work the next day. She alternately brewed tea and coffee and sipped them while watching rented videos – all romantic comedies. When the last of the videos’ credits were rolling, she looked up at the clock and saw that it was 1:30 a.m. and she felt a bit sleepy.

And that’s the problem. She didn’t want to sleep.

“No,” she moaned, “I don’t want to wake up again.”

But she turned off the TV and got off the couch anyway and dutifully did the dishes, brushed her teeth and her hair, put on her pyjamas, switched off the lights, and went to bed.

And cried, silently. And fell asleep.