In The Middle Of The Night

It's in the quiet late of the night that I can think better. Mother always complains that I'm a night owl because of the hours that I keep. I think she must be tired of nagging at me because she has not made noise for the past few nights. I look round familiar room, with it's two single beds, mottled mirror hanging over the joined study table, faded posters that belonged to Camille, my elder sister who got married and moved out five years ago. For the last five years, I have been staying alone in the room. It amuses me to think how scared I was when I had to sleep alone initially. All my life, Camille had slept in the same room as me. Then she got married. The first few nights after she moved out, I suffered from insomnia as I was frightened, frightened of being alone in this suddenly too quiet, too empty room. I felt that I was too far from another human to get help should an emergency happen. And sometimes, when my imagination was working overtime, I would feel that there was another presence in the room. At thirteen, I was too old to run to my parents room for help.

But humans are adaptive. We can get used to almost anything. So as time passed, I also got used to sleeping by myself in the room. In fact, now I enjoy the solitude that the room offers me. When I'm in a bad mood, or have work to rush through, or simply need some time to myself, my room is my haven. Like now. I look at the clock. It's going to be one in the morning soon but I didn't feel the least tired or sleepy. On the contrary, I'm feeling very alert, my mind racing over the figures and facts that I've just memorised, making new connections. At the moment though, I feel a little like a wet sponge, unable to absorb any more water.

I stretch to reach the stack of CD's that are on Camille's unused bed and select one by Wern, my favourite local composer cum singer. Inserting the CD into the portable CD player, a gift from dad for my birthday two years ago, I play the first track and lie down in my bed with my eyes closed. A little shudder, half agony, half pleasure, runs through me as the music plays. That is why Wern is my favourite artiste. because his music and lyrics have the power to touch me. His lyrics are meaningful, his tunes are melodic; the criteria of great songs are fulfilled. I also have the way he uses traditional Chinese instruments with a modern effect. A great part of why I love his music is that we share common traits, both having grown up in this island state, coming from similar family backgrounds and attending affiliated schools. That is why many a time, I feel that his lyrics have been specially written for me.

Engrossed as I am with the music, it takes me a while before I realise that something is not quite right. I feel that there is someone else in the room with me. It has been quite a while since I last felt this way. i open my eyes and I see the figure of a man by the foot of my bed. I can't see his face as it is turned to the window. I open my mouth to scream but before I can do so he disappears. Only then do I realise how fast my heart is racing. I want to announce to my family that I have seen an apparition but I worry about their reactions. Ma will think that I'm studying too hard and Pa will just say, 'Xiao!' ('mad' in Hokkien). Charles, my elder brother and the second child in the family, will probably laugh it off as some silly girl's fancy. It is also a given that they will not appreciate being wakened in the middle of the night to hear ghost stories. Even Camille, my confidante since young, will have difficulty believing me. After all, she too has stayed in this room for years and she never come across any funny business.

Another reason why I decided not to tell anyone about it is that there is something disturbing about the silhouette of the man. but I just can't quite lay my finger on what it is. I lie in bed, puzzling over what is not quite right about the figure that I saw. It does not occur to me that the figure may reappear. I don't know why but the fear that I had felt earlier has dissipated along with the apparition. I lie there, wondering why the sight of the spectre triggers a mental alarm. My eyelids get heavier and heavier...

I'm till bugged by what happened last night but there is no one I can confide in. I have made up my mind that I'm not going to get distracted by that. My preliminary examinations are coming and I cannot use that one off incident as an excuse if I were to do badly in it.  With unswayable determination, I seat myself at my table and begin to study. After some time, head bursting with facts, figures and descriptions, I decide to take a break. I look at the clock. It's almost one in the morning again. Despite a chilling sense of dejavu, I am determined to prove that yesterday was an aberration. in fact, for all I know yesterday's incident could be the product of a fatigued mind and exam stress.

It is getting too quiet in the room. I think of Wern's CD, still in the CD player which is in my drawer. I decide not to tempt fate. Instead, I switch on the TV, turning in to Channel News Asia, the only channel that I watch these days. Not that I find its programme fascinating, but simply because I hope that it can help me in my General Paper. They are airing the local news. These days, it's always about SARS. I decide to leave it on to generate some noise while I get on with my work. Then a snippet of news catches my attention. '... alleged that the local singer has been warded in the ICU unit in Tan Tock Seng Hospital. Our station tried to contact his family to verify the details but no to avail.'

Enlightenment came in a rush. Now I know what was disturbing about the figure I saw. It had resembled Wern. And judging from the news that I have just heard... My mind dredges up an article that I had read some time ago, about astral projections. Astral projections are about souls leaving the body. People have reported out of body experiences whereby they were literally able to see themselves from a third person perspective. Such case appear to be extremely common in times of extreme stress or danger, like the case whereby a pilot was reported to have appeared in his sister's bedroom minutes before his plane crashed. I wonder if that is what is happening here.

Wern must be in critical danger for this to happen. I wonder if he pull through. When I was listening to his music yesterday, I must have made a spiritual link with his soul, whose attachment to his physical body is weakened by the crisis that he is going through. That's why he appeared in my room. The thought that I had experienced something so magical yet at the same time eerie is awesome and mind boggling. Then, a thought comes unbidden into my mind. I wonder if I should. If it is right, yesterday was an accident, a coincidence. There is no etiquette about astral projections. I don't know if creating the right conditions for a projection to take place is akin to invading one's privacy. But I really want to see if it is true. how can I let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers? This is my chance to unravel one of the mysteries about life that the top scientist of today cannot solve. I make up my mind. I take out the CD player in my drawer, put the headphones in place and pres the 'Play' button.

This time, because I'm looking for it, I can sense the exact moment when it happens. With the music playing in my ears, I seem to be immersed in water. it is like entering another world, another dimension. Apart from the music in my ears, every other sound seems to have been muted off. My actions also don't seem to be in sync with my thoughts. It's like my brain is still performing at the usual speed but my movements are in slow motion. I look at the spot where I had seen the figure yesterday. Nothing. Then my sixth sense prompted me to turn back, where against the wall, the mirror is hung. There, in the mirror, I see him again. This time, face to face. Wern.

Against my better judgement, I let out a scream. I realise that there is a reason why up to today, the existence of ghost is still unproven. Men are kept distinct from their spiritual or supernatural counterparts for the simple reason that they cannot co exist. As I look at Wern through the mirror, despite knowing that he is a very talented musician and sensitive poet, despite all my previous admiration, just looking at the non human face made all the cells in me cry out in abhorrence. The face looks exactly the same, but I know, I just know that what is looking at me is not the same as me. I try to suppress the disgust, the horror and the hatred in me. I try to get back to my work. I'm definitely not going to tell anyone about this. I can imagine two reactions and none of them is favourable. I wouldn't want to be sent to a psychiatrist or a medium. I try to get back to my work, try to ignore that small voice in me that is clamouring for attention.

It's once more in the middle of the night. ma still has not come to nag me for the late nights that I'm keeping. Maybe she finally realises that I've grown up and can take care of myself. I can't help thinking about yesterday night again. I recall the moment the world stood still as I looked at that face that is the antithesis of all that I am. Now that I have proven to myself that souls do exist, another question comes to mind; is Wern going to make it? There is only one way to find the answer to this question. I switch on the TV. As CNA has this annoying habit of repeating its programmes, I don't have to wait long. 

'There was a report yesterday that said Wern, a popular local composer/ singer has been warded in Tan Tock Seng for SARS. Today, the singer himself has come out to refute the report.' Then the screen jumps to the scene of a press conference, chaired by Wern. His wife sits on one side and his manager on the other. He announces to the reporters that he is perfectly healthy. Then the newscaster moves on to another news item. I sit rooted to the bed. Wern is perfectly aright? Despite the hot humid night, I shiver. I take out the CD player and play Wern's CD again. I look into the mirror. The scene I saw yesterday appears once more. I see Wern in the mirror. Then I realise that the mirror does not reflect my bedroom. Instead, I see a double bed on parquet flooring. This is Wern's bedroom. There is a small movement in the background. It is a woman clapping her hand to her mouth. I recognise her from the news. She is Wern's wife. And her expression mirrors Wern's pure, unadulterated fear.

I jerk my arms to shield my eyes. I have seen too much. In doing so, I accidentally ripped off the earphones which fall to the ground. I look into the mirror again. I cannot hear Wern's music anymore. There's no longer any spiritual link between him and me. Instead, I see in the mirror a hospital ward. I zoom in on the bed in which a figure is lying, fighting for her life with the aid of a respirator and other machine because her own body is too weak to live by itself. But i know that she won't make it. She won't make it because I am here, looking at her through the mirror, the link between us weakened by the stress of her failing body. Although I can't see her face because it is covered by the mask, there;s no need for me to see it to picture it. No need because that is the face I se in the mirror everyday for the past 18 years. No wonder I couldn't stand the sight of Wern when I saw him last night. He reminds me of all that I've lost on this earthly plane.