Oviya Ravi Week 13; The Sounds of Night
Growing up, my family all slept in the same room. Three of us would squish onto the king bed with my dad next to us on a twin bed; I was sandwiched in between my parents. Every night I would fall asleep to my dad’s storytelling, or my parents’ singing or the chatter of all of us as we talked about the various events of our lives. Back when my biggest worry was which stuffed animal I would keep with me for the night.
Then our nights got smaller; my sister and I moved to the bedroom across the hall. My dad would sit on the edge of the bed for a few hours each night and tell “just one more” story until he was asleep and me and my sister lay awake giggling about our dad’s blabbering. These are the nights I remember the most. My personal favorite story was of Mukund and the Chocolate Pizza. This story would have us laughing for hours; no matter how many times my dad told it, I would always wait for the end with the same giddy smile on my face. It was through these stories that I learned about creativity and teamwork and how important it is to have a good group of people around you. The stories would morph into songs of a girl’s wish for the earth to circle around her and a dad’s undying desire to take care of his daughter—songs that still make me think about those nights, falling asleep to the sound of my dad’s voice.
Then my nights got even smaller, in a room by myself, falling asleep to the sounds of my sister moving around on the other side of the wall. The fan blowing, the creaking of my bed whenever I flipped over. It was lonely, but it was not the sad kind of lonely. It was the lonely that made me even more excited for the people of the following day.
And now my nights are just me. The sounds on the other side of the wall are gone, in an apartment in Orange County. My nights are now filled with finishing up work to make my next night easier. Playing a random show as I drift to sleep to drown out the thoughts of everything that has been going wrong; every bad occurrence playing over and over again in my head. It is peaceful, but this lonely can be sad sometimes. I miss the days where I never felt truly alone, the various sounds as I fell asleep were a constant comfort that I was surrounded by love and laughter. Soon, these nights will also change, but they will always remind me of that king sized bed with comfort coming in from all directions.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), as time passes, life tends to grow more complicated. Growing up is followed by independence which is followed by its shadow: responsibility. Life is simple, until it’s not, and I find that it grows more important to cling to benign pleasures. Buying myself a grossly expensive drink, going to bed early, and remembering that nothing lasts forever—least of all pain and loneliness.
ReplyDeleteJust because people leave doesn’t mean they’re necessarily gone. I sometimes find myself thinking of all the invisible impacts people in my life have left on me as they come and go. Nobody exists in isolation; we all imprint on each other, passing on cookie recipes and dumb jokes and little voices that stick to the back of our heads like taffy. Even as nights get smaller and children move out of their parent’s rooms, those memories leave behind an indelible mark.
Hi Oviya! I relate immensely to the storytelling you first described in your blog. Growing up, I never wanted to sleep without my parents. Even though by that stage, not all my friends were sleeping with my parents anymore, I still felt such a deep attachment that I refused to sleep in my room. And I didn’t, until I think I was around 8 years old. Countless nights, I remember that right before we slept, we would all play Wordhunt together, and the room would echo with laughs as we woke my dog up, who would be sleeping in the hallway in front of us. We would talk about each of our days and play games; it was so lovely, and it was the main reason I didn’t want to sleep alone in my room. I was bundled in warmth between my parents was able to fall asleep immediately when I cuddled with my mom. Now my cat has taken my spot and sleeps with my parents while I sleep in my bed. It's so intriguing how quickly we grow up, as these memories feel like they were just yesterday. For me, I don’t perceive it as loneliness, yet I still think deeply in the night of what could have been and what isn’t, of things I used to do, and my previous memories. Regardless, the nights are a quiet time (when I’m not blasting music to make myself focus and lock in) for reflection and a plan for the next day. Thank you for sharing!
ReplyDeleteHi Oviya! I found your blog incredibly interesting, and also proof that all of us shared basically the same life growing up. I still remember when I was younger asking my grandmother to tell me another story as I slept with my lamp overhead (I thought it would ward off the monsters). My heart beat would slow and speed up as she began and then neared the end of her story, when I would frantically ask her for "just one more," I kept battling the ridiculously difficult decision between trying to fall asleep and focusing on the story, but given my hedonistic tendencies I rarely ever fell asleep when my grandmother began telling stories. But the sounds of my nights changed just as yours did, and I am not sure if the passing of time has made all of our nights just a touch more depressing than they used to be. My night routine morphed from stories, to the sound of my fingers brushing the pages of a book aside, then the clicking of my keyboard as I stayed up late reading horribly written yet addicting fanfiction, and now the clacking of my macbook and the white glow from my lamp as I stay up doing work I should have finished during the day, regardless of my personal experience that relate to the content of your blog, I found your writing style incredibly immersive, your imagery and storytelling are lovely and I hope I get to see more next week. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteThe blog topic of memory has ample opportunity for the bittersweet, and I see you've leaned into it completely here to great effect. As someone who has never had the chance to sleep in the same bed as my parents as a child, the small and solitary bed is all I’ve known, but I still seem to miss the sensation you describe here of the “king sized bed with comfort coming from all directions.” There is a word from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (which I hope to own a copy of someday) which describes my feeling almost perfectly. “Anemoia” (not to be confused with anemia), meaning “nostalgia for a time you never experienced.” This word may bring some comfort in the face of regular nostalgia—you may miss your past experiences, but at least you got to experience them at least once, right? Warmth, safety, fuzzy stuffed animals, being carried to your bed at night and hearing laughter from the other room as you fall asleep…plenty to be grateful to have had.
ReplyDeleteUgh, reminiscing about the “good old days” is such an old person thing. Aren’t we still supposed to be excited for the freedom that comes with adulthood? Isn’t 16/17 a little too early for this kind of intense reminiscing? Although, I guess it is difficult to feel positively about the impending future with how accessible the news of terrible things happening in the world is nowadays. Either way, good job on your blog!