On those nights where you wait patiently for the sweet drug of Sleep to triumph over whatever consciousness you struggle to muster out in the day, you lie waiting and waiting and expecting to fall into deep, complete slumber. When failing to do so, it appears to me that scenes and thoughts of the past may just blink past – nothing certain, nothing solid but intriguing nonetheless. Yesterday night, hoping to fall asleep, I lie awake for a moment I felt, long enough the need for me to complete a revision on the Criminal Courts and the Crown Prosecution Service. Yet, I remained lying on the bed, choosing over what could perhaps been a wiser choice.

I like the darkness during the nights. It provides me with a sort of mysterious comfort that I don’t feel in the day. Yet, it is also during the nights that I realize how quickly time is slipping away. The sun would set and rise again. The light will fade and return the following day. Today would be like yesterday and tomorrow like today – almost an irrevocable process God has given us. Nonetheless, it just seems more enthralling to me that even when life is at its stiffest routines, it’s filled with little wonders that strikes you when you least expect it.

I believe that the beauty in these nights come from the quiet moments of cherished silence where you hear no one else but your own breath and where your thoughts are almost audible, but only to yourself. And, isn’t it a wonder how so much is so well expressed when nothing is said but your thoughts remain to echo through the walls you have built in the day to shelter yourself from the offences in the day? I like to think that the best conversations are shared in silence – nothing explicit said but what’s implicit is always well understood.

But like everything else that God has given a gentle touch of beauty, silence comes with a crippling quality. Silence, like glass is fragile – easily broken and its beauty only momentarily brief. At times, it is the bitter knowledge of knowing what lies ahead once this moment of silence is broken that makes you guard it so cautiously – usually, to no avail. And, at times, it is also the bitter awareness of how the future would be like once you wake up from the sleep you tried so hard to fall into the night before …

I lie awake on most nights, pondering over what is to come in the years ahead. Very often, I would simply conclude that the present demands more of my attention than the future does. But, at times, it is the assurance you have that creates the immense sense of uncertainty and hesitation. Every visit to the theater reminds me of something obscure that has gone into the depths of secluded thoughts; something that I have chose to ignore but is now intriguing to my subconscious mind. Why is it, I often ask myself that we choose to ignore the most significant of thoughts when it’s piercingly demanding for only a speck of our attention. How silly is it that we often decide against the stern wishes of the heart, believing what’s in the mind is best. And … how are we to know what’s best to begin with?

[[ mood ]] contemplative

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