the interrogations of shamshouma

Nightmare in Pokhara


I wake up. My whole body screams but my mouth is wide shut and the silence is terrifying.

First, there is pain. So much pain that surrounds you all over and you cannot breathe.

Then, at one point, while you struggle not to drown completely in pain and silence, one little painful moment suddenly seems incredibly funny. So you laugh. Well, maybe you giggle a bit, for a second. Or you smile this yellowish smile that reduces your hotel room, the bed you are lying in, the nightmare that showed you ever so cleverly all the traumatic moments that you are still stuck on, into absurdity.

the view from my hostel in Pokhara, Nepal

the view from my hostel in Pokhara, Nepal

So you laugh loudly. You laugh and the pain breaks into million pieces of miniature laughable pain, pieces that fall on the bed, that break everything and turn it into nothing. Everything becomes meaningless after that. You cannot remember why there was so much pain. You can barely remember the nightmare that caused this whole mess to begin with. Maybe you do remember. But it doesn’t make much sense. Pain, yellowish smile, laughter, chair,  bed. Everything collapses onto itself.

You stare at the ceiling. You reach for a book and start reading. the words you read fill you with new meaning. A chair is a chair. A bed is a bed. A yellowish smile is a yellowish smile. A nightmare is a nightmare. Pain is pain.

Remembering is remembering.

You take a deep breath and go back to sleep.

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