Night night, sleepless nights.


[memo to self]
I’m experiencing what I think is a chronic case of insomnia whereby nights are spent laying in bed with the intent to sleep but end up thinking about all sort of questions life had brought about that it only makes me more awake and hypo. And tonight is one of those nights.

[On approaching my 30 years of age]
They say that 20s is the toughest time of your existence. You struggle with a sense of self. It’s the period you spend experimenting in hope of figuring out who you are. To think that my 20s is nearly over (not that it’s happening anytime soon, but you know when you’re old time just flies!) I’m starting to freak out a bit. Even though I’m well aware of the possibility that I may never find the answer, the question of ‘what if’ started to raise a few concerns. ‘What if’ I turn 30 and still haven’t found pieces of wisdom many seem to have garnered in their 20s? ‘What if’ I die not really understanding who I am or realise my purposes? ‘What if’ after all this time, the answer is still answered with more questions?… You get the gist. This is precisely when my thought begins to go haywire, jumping from one subject to the next. The next thing I know, I’ve already spent 3 hours in bed tiring myself out mentally. There’s no stopping with this kind of thing, I’m afraid. I tried. God knows I tried. I even visualise myself in the calmest place, trying to center my busy thought, giving it a place to chill out and quieten down. Sometimes it works, but most times it doesn’t. I don’t want restlessness to become me. I’ve already find it hard to stay awake and be presence in the moment with good night sleep. You can imagine how much more absent and floaty I must be, running on 4-5 hours of sleep a night. And I don’t like it when I’m that half-here-half-not person. It makes me feel less worthy of each breathe I’m given. Dramatic, yes, but also true… [And the thought keeps going on and on. You feel me?]

There’s so much more I wish to write. Words are pouring out like flood. But they had slowed down. I can feel them slurred. Typing out these thoughts seems to help tire them out, like a hamster trying to work off his meal on the running wheel.

My inner wild child is tired now.
She’s drifting away.

Night night
Another sleepless night.




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