A rotten tomato

I had a really hard time sleeping well these days. It has been a while, for at least two weeks. This is quite odd for me since I usually experience no difficulty at all to fall asleep. Every day, from 11 pm to 7:30 am in the morning, I’ll be roaming in my own dream freely. But it looks like I’m running out of luck.

It’s really not because of work. I have no problem completing my jobs these days, and I have not been complaining about my workload for a quite long time. For what reason am I prevented from going to sleep? No clue. All I can tell is that I am, subconsciously, being disturbed by unknown anxiety.

When I failed to sleep, I could hear a lot of sounds. Last night I woke up three times. One at midnight, one around 2 am, and the last one around 5 am. I heard heavy raindrops hitting my window crazily. I could also hear different kinds of birds chirping. I heard my cat licking his paws. I even heard the sound of a new message’s arrival from one of my neighbors. I heard all the sounds that I wouldn’t notice normally. Insomnia is like a huge ship, it carries you to the ocean and all you can do is to float along the waves. Surrendered.

All I can do is to wait for the first beam of sunshine to arrive. And then I will play the roles I’m supposed to play (assigned, yes) — as usual, as nothing has happened.

A few days ago, I stood in front of my fridge, examining what’s inside carefully and trying to come up with a plan for lunch. I spot my last tomato and some eggs. Might be good to cook them with some wontons. The tomato looked as fresh and as lovely as always. I cut it into halves, but it was rotten. Its core, the central location, displayed a greenish black and started melting. I was deceived by its appearance. With no other options but throwing it to trash, I wondered when it went bad.

I think it’s a rather crucial quality to be able to distinguish an about-to-rotten tomato from others, especially when I’m one of the tomatoes.

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