October 30, 2014
It is 3:30 am. It is dark, and it is quiet. The city is sleeping but I have a bowl of cereal to keep me company. Cereal tastes better as a secret, midnight snack.
I can see Toronto from my window. This is the only time when the city slows down and I like it, because this is the only time I can keep up with it. I do everything slower these days. It takes me time to get out of bed. It takes time to get myself something to eat. It takes time to think and to speak. Sometimes it feels like my mind is in a fog. There’s that unshakeable feeling that I have forgotten something. Maybe forgotten who I am.
I have not been sleeping well. I have nightmares. Sometimes they change, sometimes they are different versions of the same story. Soon after surgery, my mind would dream up ways to make sense of the pain around my neck. Needless to say, they weren’t pleasant. Recently, I have had recurring nightmares about my test results. In one, the surgeon informed us that the cancer had spread everywhere, to my lymph nodes, to my lungs. I woke up, gasping. I reminded myself that that was highly unlikely but dreams, or nightmares, are not always logical.
With our conscious guard down, we are sometimes forced to confront our deepest fears. I can see Toronto from my window. I wonder how many people in the city are confronting their secret fears at this very moment.
Awake or asleep – fear is not too far away.
And here I sit – just my fears, my cereal and the sleeping city.
