I’ve never written a blog about this(breathing) before. I’ve filled countless pages in my journal entries. I have poured my thoughts onto those pages no one would ever see. Always wrestling with words in the quiet of my own room. But tonight, tonight I put it out to the world. It's 1 a.m., and I’m here in bed, awake, and typing. Simply because I don’t know what else to do. I’m gasping for breath. Each single complete breathing is painful and strained than the previous. My chest is getting tighter. It's not cooperating as it was created to cooperate. I have been/still am desperately trying to force myself to sleep for the last two hours, hoping that drifting off to the slumber land would let my body forget this struggle, and remind my lungs how to properly function. Succeess? Little to no success. Sleep has abandoned me. I try to catch it, but the more closer I get, the far it drifts away from me. Eloi! I have opened my window. The air outside is cold, but what othe...
TODAY(Written on August 30th, 2025, a sabbath evening), somewhere between exhaustion and the sweetness of evening sleep, dream stories happen. I am trying to think on who really does the stitching of some stories. Of dream stories. I can't quite tell but how I wish it was heaven doing the stitching or the artist HIMSELF(GOD). Not for all stories, but for stories like the one I am about to throw here. It was around 4 p.m. today when I drifted into one of those deep day-sleeps. I remember lying on my bed, my phone just an arm’s reach away, its soft black screen reflecting a faint silhouette of me(just super plainly). The curtain was swaying lazily in the evening wind. My desk was still crowded with reminders of schoolwork. Papers and books scattered, a pen lying diagonally across an unfinished page of Neuroscience notes, and my bag leaning tiredly against my desk. I could hear it say, "What a heavy week I have ever endured." My whole body was weary after a week...