4am – the blazing alarm went off faithfully, waking me up from the only 10 minutes of sleep I had had all night – well at least it seemed so then. I had gone through another wretched night of insomnia, making it well over 2-week stretch this time. Sleep and I have had this on-going incompatible relationship in that I love her but she hates me. I have longed to improve it and yet never come close. She remains far-fetched as ever while I the scorned rejected lover.
I remember having sleeping disorder even as young as 7 or 8. Confused and frustrated, I fought with great effort to enter that impossible rest. The darkness encompassing me was accompanied by the deep and rhythmetic breathing of my sister beside me, making it even more ghost-like with every ticking minute. Tears would swirl in eventually as I lay there aching and hopeless. I would try to climb to my sister’s bed and put my arm around her, hoping sleep would flow through and reach me. Desperated, I even groped through the darkness to mom and dad’s room and stood on mom’s bedside, scaring her half to death. Night after night, sleeplessness continued to haunt and torment me until my young body gave out and sleep claimed me at last.
Ironically, as alone as I seemed to be during those endless nights, I was on the contrary never alone. My enemies then included not only insomnia but also the bigger evil – guilt, accompanied by visions of firing hell that I believed to be my rightful final destination. I was living my life then as a petty thief in the daytime and tortured prisoner of the imaginary hell at night. The money I had stolen from my neighbors did no longer make my deprived heart merry but in fact paralyzed it at the grip of guilt. Strange how all things, blurry under the sun, become alive and acute at the nightfall, awake or asleep. Stranger, yet more true, is that the blissful slumber would not arrive till all guilt exposed and excused under the daylight. There had been a few confessions disclosed to secure that rest but none worked till the one with Christ that sealed the case and brought the ultimate pardon many years later.
Sadly, we are the byproduct of both psychological and physical instance. My conscience may have been cleared, but my insomnia continued on, having been triggered by various reasons such as out of town trips, drudgery of life or anxiety for children. A dear friend of mine whose faith and enthusiasm surpasses me once claimed Philippians 4:13 as the sole solution to all ailments or diseases, insomnia included. I couldn’t convince her as much as she couldn’t convince me. Still, I wonder: is my sleeplessness a sign of my weak faith? As believers, can we truly claim that promise and conquer all things? Another dear friend of mine in NH had little to say about the causes and solutions for this common oppressor, and yet his approach impresses me more. Instead of fighting it, he gets out of bed, reads his Bible and prays. He has a private date with God. I couldn’t help thinking: is this what they say “if you can’t fight them, join them”? And maybe that’s my ultimate comeback with this rival?
Many sleepless nights later…. It is almost weekend. My depleted body by now has become numb and my eye lids heavy as I drove in on another chilling morn. I do not know how many more insomniac nights still yet to come, but for now I rejoice in a 2-day luxury when sleep becomes irrelevant. While no match with this life-long enemy of mine, I take comfort in that the battle has already been won on the day when that tortured soul met her Advocate. As nightfall comes with the threat of another long, awake night, I feel no evil. I am never alone. This time around, in tossing and turning, let me be careful to remember, my company is no longer sin or guilt but rather a sweet comforter and friend.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Happy New Year
It is indeed here – last day of 2009. I had meant to sleep in and go to work an hour later, but insomnia hit me again last night and I was out on the road before 4:30. After a clear and chill night with full moon, I was surprised to meet 2009’s last day in a veil of dark rain. The road and office were quieter than my estimation - another one of my surprises. I am beginning to warm up to this dreadful day after all.
I have wondered how many people dislike New Year as we do. In our younger days (or years), it was never exciting to begin with. I remember we celebrated ONCE by going out to a New Year dinner with another couple shortly after we got married. After that, it quickly became some drudgery of counting game that we hate to play. 2000 was a monumental number, or daemon, that we once considered the evil of all time as in the sense of the conclusion of 20th century, or a transition from 2-digit to 4-digit era. From the beginning of the 90’s, we had been agonizing over this doom with increasing intensity. The numbering game was played over and over each year – “imagine how OLD we will be at 2000!” A decade later, we are still playing the same game with a mournful heart more than ever, pitying at the same time our past ignorance and fear. The once dreadful “How OLD” question has become irrelevant.
Regardless, the ball will drop when the clock chimes 12 times. This year we have managed to find our usual couple friends to help us go through another wretchedness of this holiday. There will be munchies, pizza, dessert and helpful portions of spirits to ease our pain. Our accomplices, more exact, victims, are many years our junior thus we will take part in their innocence and energy and hopefully go through the dark hour less scarred. Making friends does not come easy for us, but this friendship has actually lasted for almost a year and a half with hardly any deliberate effort from our part. We think a well-concealed secret of our age is the contributing factor of the success of this relationship. The goodness of these two kind souls helps too, as they have generously extended their family to ours in many other occasions such as Easter and Christmas. For people like us, more me than him, commitment has evolved into a major challenge as we grow older. New Year’s Eve, though, is an exception. We rely on the company of much braver and jovial souls to pass through the darkness.
What is it that makes New Year such a grave evil? It’s more than the drag of changing digits on the checkbook; it’s the passing of another year, good or bad, that you can’t recall or you wish to undo. When young, it meant more than past regret. The luxury of youth tags New Year with a hope, illusion or not, for self-improvement and a future that seems too far away. It needs no champagne, firework or parade – it is a celebration itself. I remember waking up on and off in a fire cracker popping night, my young heart thudding from not only an exciting day ahead but also a rebirth of a better year or a better me. Even then, it was never about the candy, new outfits or parties; it was always about a new me, forgetting the past regret and moving on to a fantasy world where faults and sins relinquished their hold of me.
Then I grew up. Older and sadder, I found New Year out; it was never magical but an imposter with a noble name. The ghost of the past would not go away. It quickly consumed the present and a hopeful future became once again a disillusion. No, New Year changes nothing, me or this life, but 1 or 2 digits. The one and only rebirth sealed with forever guaranteed newness remains in Christ. And yes, as long as this life continues, sins shall drag on and at times cloud our visions on the surety of a perfection that does not fade or taint. Regardless, when all toil and heartaches are done, the ball shall drop once more and a true New Year will be celebrated forever for its promised affluence: a new heaven and earth with a new life that never grows old or disappoint. Until then, we will just have to make it through yet another night of torment with good friends, plenty of indulgences, and yes, hope.
Let the ball drop….
I have wondered how many people dislike New Year as we do. In our younger days (or years), it was never exciting to begin with. I remember we celebrated ONCE by going out to a New Year dinner with another couple shortly after we got married. After that, it quickly became some drudgery of counting game that we hate to play. 2000 was a monumental number, or daemon, that we once considered the evil of all time as in the sense of the conclusion of 20th century, or a transition from 2-digit to 4-digit era. From the beginning of the 90’s, we had been agonizing over this doom with increasing intensity. The numbering game was played over and over each year – “imagine how OLD we will be at 2000!” A decade later, we are still playing the same game with a mournful heart more than ever, pitying at the same time our past ignorance and fear. The once dreadful “How OLD” question has become irrelevant.
Regardless, the ball will drop when the clock chimes 12 times. This year we have managed to find our usual couple friends to help us go through another wretchedness of this holiday. There will be munchies, pizza, dessert and helpful portions of spirits to ease our pain. Our accomplices, more exact, victims, are many years our junior thus we will take part in their innocence and energy and hopefully go through the dark hour less scarred. Making friends does not come easy for us, but this friendship has actually lasted for almost a year and a half with hardly any deliberate effort from our part. We think a well-concealed secret of our age is the contributing factor of the success of this relationship. The goodness of these two kind souls helps too, as they have generously extended their family to ours in many other occasions such as Easter and Christmas. For people like us, more me than him, commitment has evolved into a major challenge as we grow older. New Year’s Eve, though, is an exception. We rely on the company of much braver and jovial souls to pass through the darkness.
What is it that makes New Year such a grave evil? It’s more than the drag of changing digits on the checkbook; it’s the passing of another year, good or bad, that you can’t recall or you wish to undo. When young, it meant more than past regret. The luxury of youth tags New Year with a hope, illusion or not, for self-improvement and a future that seems too far away. It needs no champagne, firework or parade – it is a celebration itself. I remember waking up on and off in a fire cracker popping night, my young heart thudding from not only an exciting day ahead but also a rebirth of a better year or a better me. Even then, it was never about the candy, new outfits or parties; it was always about a new me, forgetting the past regret and moving on to a fantasy world where faults and sins relinquished their hold of me.
Then I grew up. Older and sadder, I found New Year out; it was never magical but an imposter with a noble name. The ghost of the past would not go away. It quickly consumed the present and a hopeful future became once again a disillusion. No, New Year changes nothing, me or this life, but 1 or 2 digits. The one and only rebirth sealed with forever guaranteed newness remains in Christ. And yes, as long as this life continues, sins shall drag on and at times cloud our visions on the surety of a perfection that does not fade or taint. Regardless, when all toil and heartaches are done, the ball shall drop once more and a true New Year will be celebrated forever for its promised affluence: a new heaven and earth with a new life that never grows old or disappoint. Until then, we will just have to make it through yet another night of torment with good friends, plenty of indulgences, and yes, hope.
Let the ball drop….
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