Insomnia hit me again. Scents of lavender wafted through my room, known to induce sleep. I tossed and turned, seeking an optimal sleeping position. I prescribed myself a “Lofi Sleep Track”, attempting to engineer my breathing to synchronize with the song’s steady rhythm. I hoped this would lead me to sleep.
I look out of the window. The clouds are so fluffy. They’re drifting, floating, beautiful. I want to be like the clouds. I want to be free.
I want to fall asleep. Why couldn’t I?
***
When I migrated from Singapore to Dubai due to my father’s job, what kept me going were the nightly calls I had with my Singaporean friends. Their voices provided comfort from the Singaporean food I missed, and the microaggressions I faced from my Dubai classmates. Yet gradually, as our common topics diminished, so did the calls, and so did my self-esteem.
In an attempt to rediscover my purpose, I focused my energy on something that I had done all this while in Singapore: coding. Gradually, I was recognized by the Expo2020 Young Innovators Programme, a thrilling opportunity. I declared my newfound purpose to code products I loved. I began thinking about the App Store, competitions, external computing programmes, and other ways that I could seek validation from.
This seed, however, gradually grew into my habit of over-engineering life to achieve extrinsic outcomes, one that continued flourishing even after I returned to Singapore. I had chased after grades, publications, awards, and numbers; the more, the better. I could push myself forward; I could do it; I could prove myself; and yet after each examination, after each arduous meeting, I could just sense a diminishing love for all that I was doing, that this was not going to last.
***
When I was a child, when falling asleep alone was a chore, I tried using lavender and counting sheep. But the only solution that truly worked was dragging my parents to sleep with me.
“Pa, what do you do when you are trying to sleep”, I asked my father lying next to me.
“You don’t have to do or think about anything,” he says. “Just put everything away and let the body ease out.”
How does he do that? Yet, his presence calms me. His nasal rhythmic breathing pattern is almost like a chant. I “put everything away”, and drift to sleep.
***
At age 16, I faced insomnia again, for worries flooded me about the BuildingBloCS conference that I led as the Overall-in-Charge. The $3000 recording equipment, the 400 participants, the 7 new venues; so many things could go wrong.
I thought about our previous conference. Our workshops had exploded in number and as organizers, we ran around the auditorium, attempting to keep up with the raising hands. Amidst the chaos, I exchanged fleeting glances with my organizers, brief moments in which exhaustion was prominent on our faces. However, little did I notice, there had been a smile, a common acknowledgment of the efforts we committed.
A participant had scalded her hand with hot water. I hurried down, having never prepared for nor met a medical emergency before, worries churning in my head. Yet in actuality, the situation had already been swiftly handled by organizers who knew first-aid. Stress levels quickly declined, and we agreed that BuildingBloCS was now one lesson stronger.
Why did these moments seem much less worrying in retrospect?
Having my leadership defined by the quality of the conference, I worried about the unanswered raised hands and the unexpected incidents. But ultimately, the subtle smiles from my organizers and the growth we celebrated were what truly mattered.
Maybe, even my attempts to sleep mirrored my over-engineering. I focused on adjusting my sleeping environment with lavender and Lofi music. But it was, conversely, sabotaging my ability to “put everything away”, what my father taught me to do.
***
At 17, I triumphed over insomnia.
In a world of accomplishments and expectations, I found an assurance that came from knowing that I had tried and grown, something much larger beyond extrinsic motivations and anxieties. This assurance would keep me going even in my worst circumstances.
I could finally fall asleep, reminiscent of the childhood nights when my father lay beside me.