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The Ungodly Hour

I love the hour of 1:30 in the morning. i purposely do not sleep until that hour has passed if i can help it. not that i don’t like sleep, i do. The reason behind this unhealthy habit of mine is the silence it brings. Now, i know that there are many kinds of silence, for example: an awkward silence (the silence that comes after you say something stupid in front of the one person you desperately want to please and a host of others), a deafening silence (often heard during examination period, and especially loud when correct answers evade you), welcome silence (the moment a superior being finishes mouthing a tirade of insulting words directed at you), or the knowing silence (when you realize, after a train of angry, rhetorical questions, the answer which you did not expect at all) just to give a few. However, the silence that endears me to 1:30AM is one that is alive and tangible, and feels like i am walking in a pool filled with it to the brim. It is silence which envelopes and gives a whiplash effect when it chooses to release.

One night, i was still up and about at around that time, surfing the net while doing really nothing at all. I heard the air conditioning humming lightly, and thats when i first realized the enchanting effect of this wee hour. No, its not completely the absence of sound, it’s not even that particular hour and minute indicator. t’s the silence I’m telling you about. Had it come to me at 12 in the middle of the lunchtime, then it’s safe to conclude that i’ll be writing about 12 noon now. But, here we are, and you’re reading about 1:30AM.

I am not a silent person, maybe that’s the reason why i crave it. It’s a recluse, a haven for my mind. It may seem spiritual, but its not. You see, spirituality for me involves a lot of talking, with my mouth or even just in my head. i think my thoughts aloud in this respect. During this time, I find my mind at its clearest, like smoke fading after a horrid exchange of gunfire, no matter how tired i am. I play scenarios in my head, romantic, grand, obscene, witty. I am able to jump from one thought to another, then trace from 20 stories back to arrive at my original thought. It is easiest to move my bowels at this time. And, internet connection is at a *insert sports metaphor here, preferably about Formula1* speed.

The clock hits 3am.  Suddenly, my eyelids feel heavier than my whole body, for i cannot lift them even with the amount of energy i normally use in riding my nordic machine. I hear hustling noises upstairs, my mom should be up, they’re leaving for Bohol today.

And I cannot write anymore.

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