Kiú-kiong:〈4：44：44〉
Translated by Will Buckingham
In the MRT car, I opened up my phone. The time showed four forty-four in the afternoon.
I suddenly came to my senses, squinting at the alarm clock. It was exactly four o’clock, forty-four minutes and forty-four seconds. If you happen to see numbers like this, they’re called angel numbers, and it means the heavens are trying to send you some kind of message.
It was an omen, but back then, I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know why I’d woken up in the middle of the dark night. A row of wavering fours, my vision so blurry I could barely read them. Everything seemed strange, unfamiliar. One by one, the numbers transformed into knives.
I suppose you could say that when people fall asleep, it is as if they are wrapped up in a great bubble, steeped in a bottomless world of nocturnal dreaming, so calm and peaceful. And when we wake, it’s like a knife has burst the bubble, dropping us back into reality.
I went to the bathroom, one foot still stepping through my dreams. The tiled floor beneath me swayed like a bridge made of bamboo poles, and only then did I come to my senses. I sat down for a piss, and wondered if after pissing I would sleep better.
The sky was not yet light. I hated being awake at night, a good night’s rest ruined. Now I was awake far too early, unable to get back to sleep
[…]
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