Living on a jetlag

It’s been five days and the jetlag doesn’t want to go away yet. Deep sigh. I gulped down coffee after coffee during the day and beer after beer during the night. Unfortunately, due to the traffic in the house, I have been woken up in the morning. Most of the time, it is too early before I could catch 8 hours sleep to call it enough rest.
            Usually I try to be on bed around 12 at night. That is my normal bed time and generally I could not stay awake until 10 minutes after I hit the pillow. But during the jetlag period, after one hour I find my eyes are still wide awake then I try to read a book. After 30 minutes I put down the book and try to close my eyes. Instead of drifting into a sleep, my rapid eye movement is still on a high rate and my thoughts are wandering so furious. Typically, all of the things I worry about pop up and I would try my best not to sob.
            Then I decided to get up. Sometimes I have supper and water after water and try to sleep again. Sometimes I try to read books again or turning on my laptop and play that stupid computer games. Most of the times I feel a bit relieved for just staying awake and admitting that I am still on a jetlag.
            Tonight I find my self under the influence of different bedtime. I have been doing all the rituals, reading, playing games or just laying on a bed. The difference is, tonight I feel contented. I don’t know why. When I noticed that everybody was fast asleep while I was busy with my jetlag night ritual, I feel safe and happier. Strangely, I find a solace with the darkness all around me and a comfort in a night rhythm, buzzing sound from the fridge, the surprisingly loud tick tock from the old wooden clock, the mechanical movement noise of my brother’s cheap fan and the voice inside my head.
            FYI, my boyfriend is visiting, and he is taking over my room while I moved to my brother’s room. Accordingly, all the rooms in the house are occupied and I am loosing my individual spaces. New Order might label it, a place to call my own. Normally, I never mind this. I am certainly not a solitaire person. Though I might be close to selfish, but my life is too often oriented to the people. I like moving from one person to another and am not easily disturbed by the busy crowd. But these strange times I gladly enjoy my own company during the jetlag hours. Just doing what I want to do, without someone’s spying on me, more ever make comments and ruin my day by giving me a cranky mood.
            A western lifestyle has bizarrely built an individual human-being inside me, a strong one. And this one seems braver, sharper and more demanding at the same time. I suspect this is a consequence of being exposed big to the variety of people. And also due to the fact that I have been missing the people here too much. The days of the month have been tough as well, circumstances changed and mood swings uncontrollably. Maybe, just a maybe, no matter how hard I missed the lovely people here, what I often miss the most is my self. Me as my own company.

That Rockaway feeling

I can feel it’s ending. That Sundays, when everyone rushed to the beach just because we had unseasonably warm weather in late September, ...