I can fall asleep almost anywhere. A moving car, the wind brushing against my face — that is when the sandman comes most swiftly. As a child, I hated it. One blink, and the journey was gone. No sights, no sounds, only the sudden arrival at the destination.
My parents kept a strict bedtime: 10 p.m. sharp. I resented it. After school, extra classes, activities, and homework, there was barely a sliver of time left for TV. By the time the books were closed, dinner was served, and then — lights out.
I never imagined there would come a day when I would long for sleep. It began in college, buried under syllabi, assignments, and a thesis with little guidance. Deadlines demanded sacrifice, and sleep was the first offering. Then came work. Freedom in earning, yes — but responsibilities multiplied. The corporate hamster wheel spun endlessly, and sleep became conditional: finish the job, or risk losing it.
Now I crave not just sleep, but sleep with dreams. Four or five hours a night leave me chasing rest wherever I can find it. Sometimes I take a cab to the office just to steal a nap in the back seat, while the driver carries me through the city.
It is true what they say: children never understand the joy of sleep. I didn’t either. But now I know — sleep is not punishment. Sleep is mercy. Sleep is gift.
Word Hues 