Insomnia makes philosophers

Last night I couldn't sleep for a long time! I tried breathing in and out, did not work. I tried to count, started at 1, went upto 490 and then decided that I couldnt be so pathetic to go any further. And then I thought about a hundred things, till I could go back to sleep and decided that life is all about companionship.

Insomnia (Just as a one night stand... I am not a patient) can make philosophers, I guess. I thought about hundreds of things, about people, friends, crushes, mom n dad. Memories breezed by as I kept counting. Sometimes I did find loneliness standing around the corner.

I remembered one winter afternoon under Naini bridge, sharing choclates, and later photographing birds in Company Bag, the same evening.

I remembered a late evening, fourteen girls, a hostel corrider, no electricity and laughter.

I remembered one long drive down the Barasat-Barrackpore road, street lights and black silhouttes of trees, a cup of tea from the roadside dhaba and butterflies in the stomach.

I remembered a day when mom slapped, rolling tears and a hug just 5 minutes later, and a nap with my head on mom's lap.

One evening when I cried on the phone and the friend explained how special I could be.

The college quadrangle, a bunch of friends, where we loved to listen to the music on the mouth organ.

Long letters to a best friend, I wonder how I wrote those pages after pages without tiring myself.

Early morning, 7.30 am, 14 girls, tears rolling down sleepy eyes, seniors and ragging.

Pictures of a carraige, and a blue long flowing gown, the fiction of a first date.

A little poem, scribbled into paper, and loving it all the way.

And the most, I remembered a few promises made to me, and a pair of eyes That I hurt just because I was so damn tired to fight back.

Hundreds of thoughts went by and I wondered... we met, we parted, what remained was memories. Some of them had been so painful, yet when I think of them today, I smile. With every memory exists a person. A wonderful person in his/her own special way. Sometimes these memories hurt not because they happened, but because they ceased to exist. But everytime I stopped at the lonely corners, I wiped off a tear. Corners deviod of people, devoid of company... what existed was void. People say I am strong, emotionally. I handle the mental downphases well by myself. But you know what I am really scared of? Being alone... that is what scares me the most. I need to talk, to listen, to know that I have people around me to whom I mean at least something if not a lot.

P.S. : Please dont take this post very seriously... This was written by a philosopher made by an insomniac sleepless night ! Sometimes you are allowed to get a little emotional.... *wink*