It has been a given since the first term of the academic year that I stay at the top bunk of the double decker bed whenever my aunt arrives from Hong Kong. Memories of me bugging my sister to let me stay at the top bunk in the summer—only to get a death glare from her matched with a stiff “No” in return—were long gone but alive in me whenever I stayed at the top. It eventually had become a dread as the top bunk started creaking. Mind you, I almost never experience the pleasure of getting to sleep once I lie in bed, no. Only after a long day or when stress takes its toll on me that I fall asleep easily.
On typical days, however, I have to toss and turn and worry about the future aftering creeping on the past as I neglect the in between—which is where I lay, the present—before I could shut down my restless self. Tossing and turning caused creaking, earning its deserved place in my list of trivialities that shouldn’t bother me but do anyway. I’ve recently discovered how sensitive my ears are to noise, for most of my peeves are unflattering sounds of life: people removing food stuck in between their teeth so noisily, things creaking (especially during ungodly hours of the night), fingers heavily scratching a chalkboard, boisterous cackling… the extremely nasty list goes on.