I was twelve when I pulled my first all-nighter. Up until then, I went to bed every night and woke at some prescribed time to the morning regimen of teeth-brushing and ritualistic ablutions. A certain number of hours would pass in between the moments when my head touched down on the pillow to when it rose; in the end, no matter how late I slept, those hours were lost, surrendered to the incomprehensible darkness of repose; it was as if they never belonged to me, maybe never even existed. Dawn was merely a binary passage of light.
As with many accidental things, I never intended for it to happen. I enjoyed childhood and passed many languorous afternoons scuttling the streets with similar aged neighbors, coasting down hills on our bikes, or lounging behind a sofa deep inside a book. On occasion, we might procure a kite from nearby markets and sail it into the sky, watching it twist with the vagaries of the atmosphere. Invariably, this joyful contraption would be lost, either to a tree or to jealous gusts that might wrest it from our fingers. But oh, when it was in our hands, we could hear the universe hum!
So the days passed. Exhaustion and night were inextricably linked. I was content enough to succumb. That day however, and it was a Saturday, my mother and her mother expressed a desire to visit a family friend with us, children, in tow. The folks whom we were to see were especially intimate with my grandmother; in fact, they had given my father his first professional job upon graduation in the States. We had to pay our respects as, owing to Chinese tradition, we were in their generosity’s debt. Young as I was, I knew a little something about tradition and respect. Respectfully, I complied.
I remember very little about the day. But I do remember the drive (though I had my eyes closed as I was prone to bouts of car sickness), veering towards some gibbering land on a swathe of foul smelling highway; it passed along as a series of curves, a thrumming lull, and finally, to lurching gaps that conjured an offramp and traffic lights. I also remember a mansion, the view and guest houses beside a pool, tennis courts on the lower level of the yard. Outside of these momentary snapshots, nothing else of significance remained. Then, there was the five-pound bag of golden toffees, candy that made my siblings wrinkle their faces but brought such a sweet effusion of delight to my mouth. So I ate the entire bag, leisurely.
Of course, there was the night. After some length of time, we returned home and there we were, a troupe of slapsticks trudging up the stairs with each of us pushing on the other’s back. Curled on my bed, I watched my brother fall asleep next to me. However, the memory of those toffees remained, and with them, the bits and pieces of caffeine percolated through my veins, warding off the lethian chill. Night fell and I did not fall with it. Perhaps it was the sugar but I had never beheld a more aberrant evening; the wind howled and rapped the windows, pawing to get in. Through a crumpled corner where the blinds had jammed up, a face peered in and watched me watching it.
A face! It was a grotesque face, leering like a devil, but I do not recall reacting with any kind of fear. It may have been a spirit (more likely it was shadowplay of the plum tree flickering outside) but then I was no stranger to spirits either. One night, in the yellowed days of rural Taiwan, when my sister and I were placed in the charge of various grandfolks as our parents struggled in California, a veiled woman appeared at my bedside and beckoned me to rise. I did not. She, sensing my hesitation, opened a closet door and stepped into a brilliant landscape of lush meadows and cherry blossoms. When she turned to me again, I promptly shut my eyes and fell asleep.
Sometimes I wonder what might have befallen had I stepped into that other world, if they would find me with blank eyes and a mouth of foam. Courage requires a deal of purposeful imbecility; I was only capable of blind stupidity. Fortunately, there was no veiled woman this time; instead, a doorway opened in my own head and I saw something even more magnificent: the infinite array of futures lined up before me! I was twelve, the intricacies of the beyond should have never entered a youngster’s mind, least of all mine; but there they were, the woman I was to wed, the children I would rear, and the manifold adventures I might embark on. It was completely, utterly dazzling!
I saw myself destitute and broken, a beacon and strong, dying, alive, in school, and on the streets. It was all there. That whole night, I studied the face in the window and saw every single iteration. Maybe I was meant to choose, then and there, and follow fate to an inevitable conclusion; but they all appealed to me, even tragedy, perhaps even more so because the pleasures and potential were all the greater. Had divinity approached with an offer of greatness and had I spurned it out of indecision? How could I choose? I couldn’t! But that night, I knew a glimmer of what was possible.
An ending came as endings do, the birds began wharbling their strangled cries, loudest in the hour before sunrise and softer as the sun asserted itself. In the second that I turned to ponder the growing definition of ceiling and vision, the face vanished. It was so sudden, I crawled out to the glass pane, pushed aside the blinds, and peered about to determine the source of this figment. Nothing lay beyond, only a purple-inked sky becoming diluted with waking movements. In this manner, I pulled my all-nighter, brushing my teeth, fumbling about the knobs for hot water and soap and bottles of shampoo.
Since then, I have had my share of sleepless nights, learned the proper appellation to these visions and called them for what they were, daydreams. Defused the magic. But the feeling of choice, the wondrous sensation of knowing that life was mine to decide, well, I’ve only felt it twice since. Once was the day prior to leaving home for higher education over half a decade ago. And the other was yesterday, when I submitted my resignation letter to the boss and knew I was holding the kite again.