Ambiguous Confession

Night

I cannot sleep, again.

I heaved a sigh before tossing my blanket to the side and sprawled over my narrow-spaced bed. I carefully reached for my phone from under my pillow and checked the time.

11:29 PM

The light coming from my flip phone caused me to be temporarily blind, as I squinted my eyes more to reduce the light entering my poor eyes.

I flipped my phone close, relieved that my eyes aren't suffering anymore. I carefully reached for my bedside lamp switch in which I failed miserably, since I managed to sweep all the contents lying on top of my bedside drawer to the wooden floor -- resulting to a series of thuds and a groan coming from my mouth.

Fortunately, following my failed attempt, I managed to switch my bedside lamp on. I sat on my bed, careful not to hit my head on the top bunk. As soon as I set my feet on the wooden floor, loud footsteps were heard from the hallway outside my door.

My door bursted open, revealing my aunt in her revealing sleepwear which consists of a spaghetti strap top with deep neck line and a pair of loose short shorts. Really?

"Is everything fine here? Are you okay, Lu?"

A big yawn escaped from her mouth in between her questions. At the same time, she scratched her belly and messy bed hair. I noticed that she only wore one of her slippers which earned a low chuckle from my lips.

"I just dropped my things, auntie. Relax."

I assured her with a smile before standing up and walked towards her. She gave me a puzzled and worried look mixed inside those sleepy eyes.

As soon as I reached the door, I pushed her outside, careful not to push too much and see my sleepy aunt lying on the floor. And possibly wake her up.

Once I saw my aunt enter her room, I quietly shut the door and tiptoed to the side of the bed where my bedside drawer is located. I crouched down before my fallen belongings and stared at it for a little while.

My sketchbook has been left open by the fall, revealing the page where an unfinished script draft is written.

Nights of Spring
March 15

I started to trace the handwritten cursive text with my fingertips. Surge of memories of the beginning of my dream started to flood my mind. I remember how it felt to have ideas and managing to start writing a script plus organizing the plot.

A sad, nostalgic smile appearedon my face. These past years, I have been writing a whole lot of unfinished scripts  and it frustrates me. Why do I get stuck at the same part over and over again?

Determined to attempt finishing a script draft, I picked the sketchbook up with my right hand while the other reached for a pencil lying on the cold, wooden floor.

I climbed back to my bed and laid on my stomach with the sketchbook on top of my pillow and a pencil on one hand. I need to finish this at the very least. I can do it.

Propping my elbows on either sides of the pillow, my hand holding the pencil hovered over a blank space below the fading text of old ideas.

Nothing. Nothing comes to my mind.

I shut my eyes close, in hopes of any idea to come to my mind. I put a palm below my chin to support my thinking head.