Uppsala, Sweden | It was a cold January evening, with a warm welcome nevertheless, as we arrived at the peaceful 18th-century estate called Krusenberg Herrgård Manor for the 2022 Winter School. There was just too much anticipation and high hopes on my part
about this, being it my top motivation for applying to this master's program I am in. And it did not disappoint in all fairness, getting to experience so many firsts once again – trying out the Sjöporten sauna, dipping
in the ice-cold Ekoln (Mälaren lake) thereafter, getting treated with some of
the finest Swedish traditional dishes, walking around an apple orchard, and learning a few new things. Though, little did I know, my first night in this lovely place would turn out to be anything but peaceful.
The night was cold, the air heavy with an ominous stillness that sent shivers down my spine. The bed, adorned with thick, suffocating sheets, beckoned me to rest, a promising respite after a grueling journey and anxiety-inducing Covid screenings leading up to this event. So, after taking some moments to exchange hellos with the other participants, we called it a night and went off to bed.
In no time, I had the sleep I thought I wished for (erratic at best, not to mention) , in the strangest of ways. It was plagued by a succession of ghastly nightmares that twisted and contorted my mind. I found myself trapped in a terrifying labyrinth of aimless running. Desperate to evade the unseen horrors, I sought refuge in clandestine hiding places, only to be haunted by the deafening silence that suffocated the atmosphere. The details of these dreams eluded me, yet their impact was undeniably horrifying. Each time I managed to rouse myself from the nightmarish abyss, my heart pounded within my chest, its thunderous beats resonating in my ears. The suffocating grip of fear clung to my very core as if some ancient evil had ensnared my soul.
Then seeking solace in the solace of sleep, I drifted back into the realm of nightmares, unwittingly entangled in a never-ending cycle of terror. The torment of aimless running, the torment of desperate hiding, and the torment of silent screams tormented my shattered psyche. Torment, being the overused, but obviously the operative word, here. With each iteration, the horror intensified, gnawing at my sanity until it threatened to crumble. A few iterations of this, until I got tired of it all. I finally collected enough courage to wake up for real, and the nightmare was no longer confined to the realm of dreams. The twisted visions that had tormented my subconscious now clung to the corners of my existence, a haunting reminder that the line between dreams and reality had been irrevocably, successfully erased.
Later that day, I learned some mad tales about the history of the place, and some things finally made a lot of sense. Nightmares such as these mirror the fears that plague me in various of life's aspects—fears of both possessing and losing, reminiscent of the life I led before being here. I spent so many years spending life overcompensating for so many of those
fears – stayed in my comfort zone, settled in for jobs I half-loved, for the
fear of ending up in some difficult place. While I harbored dreams within, I never took action, paralyzed by the fear of failling. Regrettably, the nightmare I found myself trapped in was a result of my own making. I consciously chose to confine myself within its walls. Deep down, we often recognize the need to wake up and face reality, yet we opt to remain in a state of slumber. We make a deliberate choice to avoid taking risks, fearing the potential consequences that might follow.
So we unnecessarily got stuck, in a life that was not so terrible but not so great at
the same time. But waking up to reality, no matter how
uncertain, more often than not, is the much better option, don't youthink?
