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3am Is My Holy Grail
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One of the perks of being a nocturne is, at some point, realizing that all efforts are futile, and thus there is no other way but to accept your condition and watch the world pass by, quite literally. This comes in handy especially if you have read all there is to read, exhausted all possible chambers of the human brain to come up with the ever-elusive answers to the most ubiquitous queries of the math world, have pondered on Zen-like dispositions, and have juiced out all fluids needed to compete with the genius of Mozart and Chagall.
Of course I need not state that this predicament happens to me every night, but I will anyway.
Bombarding my crowd of groovy roaches and eight-legged freaks with my play list (against my will) is something I have resorted to in lack of other recreation. I recently discovered that MY roaches dig Everything But The Girl; they crawl out of every dark corner once they hear “Cross My Heart” in mid volume. I have yet to introduce them to Swingout Sister but I bet they will love the music. It does strike me as odd, because my imagination is anything but stagnant. One of my fears is discovering that the film “Joe’s Apartment” is a fact. I may hang onto my eyeballs if at some point I accidentally switch on to the roach channel, and have a roach named Ralph talk me into world domination. That would be twilight zone, and if that happens I would swear to an eternity without caffeine.
But the other night there was the lunar eclipse, or at least I think it was a lunar eclipse (because how do you explain the orange full moon). I have always loved the moon, which, I think is to be expected of an insomniac. Watching the moon gives me a sense of oneness with everything else; a certain harmony with all the elements out there. I feel like I’m no stranger but unknown; like I’m following a certain fate but I sketch my own map. It’s a silent witness to the few times that I was anything but jubilant. It is my guide as I fearlessly render my service to the night
I would be lying if I say that every night is all fun and what-not: there are nights when I don’t remember nor feel a thing. Too tired, too irritated to even take a few steps towards the player and prop a CD just so I could have a release. There are nights when I just lie in my bed, waiting for absolutely nothing. I do my thinking in the morning under the gushing cold water, and the nights are reserved for relaxation, albeit ironic as my R&R would seem. A friend once innocently asked me if I would be so kind to even include sleeping in my to-do list – we met up that afternoon and she saw the dark circles around my eyes. She suggested that I count sheep to help me doze off (like I hadn’t tried that before). I did everything that was suggested by a friend or an acquaintance, as if my sleeping problem is their problem (but I guess Filipinos are like that). It’s not that there is no cure: I’m not sure if I want one. True, I lack sleep most of the time. My eyes and body could use some rest after an almost 18-hour shift. But being awake keeps me sane. I don’t want sleeping to be a mere excuse for lack of recreation or for plain boredom. This works for me. I’d love to sleep a whole 8-hour cycle; actually that’s the length of sleep that I’m supposed to get. There are days when I don’t have the luxury of living with two pairs of hands. I wish I could do more. I wish I could accomplish more. I wish I could devote more time with the things that I want to do and the ones that I need to do. And I am able to multitask, if not totally resolve, everything when I am awake. It’s part physiological and free will. I’m not saying I’m a better person because of that since I know I don’t have anything to prove to anyone but myself. I’m stating that I want to be able to watch the night sky turn into sunrise. Truthfully, apart from the reasons that I have mentioned, I don’t know why else I insist on being awake.
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