3:20 am. February, 2019.
The lights are switched off. The light entering through the blinds is so dim that there’s hardly any difference, except for the faint stripes on the ceiling.
The only luminous object in this room is my phone, making visible to me nothing more than the screen and my thumbs tapping away on the keyboard.
The silence is the kind that, when I try to focus on it, I can hear the high pitch that my own brain is producing. It’s the odd sensation that is the utter absence of sound.
The comfort of the silence, the solitude, and the lack of desire to sleep form a scenery of me huddled up in the blanket, back resting upright on a pillow against the bed board, suddenly inspired to put my thoughts into words.
Perhaps that is why silent solitude is so comforting. Amidst the constant waterfall of people and noises and environment, It’s like dropping a pebble in a pond. It’s a poignant, distinct sound of the plop and the ripples. Singular, small but distinct. At this very moment, I am surrounded only by myself. The silence makes path for my thoughts to be amplified, the darkness is a barrier of distraction.
These fleeting, and rather rare moments where I am so aware of everything I am doing- the words and images in my brain, the dynamic pressure on my thumbs as they type, the tug on my scalp from my hair in a bun, the folds of the blanket: leave me inspired. Inspired to listen to myself. Inspired to be blissful in nobody’s company but my own.