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 Рtrying out the Sj̦porten 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.
But little did I know, my first night in this lovely place would turn out to be anything but peaceful, which is a common thing for me when spending night at a new place. The night was cold, the air heavy with an ominous stillness. 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 pleasantries with the other participants, 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, repetitive but twisted. 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. 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 sequence of nightmares, unwittingly entangled in a never-ending cycle of terror. There were the torment of aimless running, the torment of desperate hiding, and the torment of silent screams. Torment, being the overused, 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, and run away from the twisted visions that had tormented me.
Nightmares such as these often happen to me rarely, but do so when some fears become too apparent. In this case, I think it's the fear of both possessing and losing of the life I led before being here. I spent so many years spending life overcompensating – 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 failing. I consciously chose to confine myself within safe spaces, all this time while I recognize the need to wake up and face reality. Made a deliberate choice to avoid taking risks, fearing the potential consequences that might follow, 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, after all.
