Life is something that happens when you can’t get to sleep.

Fran Lebowitz

The afternoon was a quiet time on mundane days. Unless new visitors are to be acquainted with the place, the constant members were not to be seen during those hours. Ms. Coffee was tidying up while humming a song she listened to earlier. At that very moment, she started to wonder what today’s discourse would be. Although she never suggested or commented on the issues, she always enjoyed listening intently to the ideas around the table. They usually occupy her mind in her leisure time. 

While she was pondering on her understanding of healing, Mr. Cynic walks into the café. He distorted the pattern of her thought at once, she hastened in his direction. “Mr. Cynic, how odd to see you at this hour? How are you today, sir?” “I’m well, Ms. Coffee. Would you do me a favor and bring me a fresh, brewed coffee?” He wished to conclude the conversation before she lingered to inquire him about his day. He needed a cup of coffee in his blood before he endured any conversation with anyone. 

Moments later, Lady Creativity walks into the café. She sat beside him in silence since she felt his negative aura all over the place. When he realized that she was not going to utter a word about his countenance, he whispered a greeting to acknowledge her presence. She only said hi. Neither he nor she was in the mood to chat. 

After an hour of silence and consumption of two cups of coffee, they glanced at each other. “do you wish to talk about it?”, he sighed. “Only the subject,” she replied picking her cup once again. “Mine would be about romantic wrinkles,” he sighed again. She gaped at him feeling like he read her thoughts. “was that what your subject was, too?” He gave her a half-grin while playing with the spoon in one hand. “I wouldn’t dream of a better phrase. Besides, it is quite uncommon to hear you use that phrase. From the looks of it, you were the one person I would’ve guessed to win over his emotion more than anyone else. Are you married, sir?” He was not surprised by her remark for he has heard it too many times by now. No one ever knew or guessed what become of him was because of too many emotions he had felt once. Perhaps, too many times. 

“Lady Creativity, did you really think I was always like this? Yes, I am not married. But, I have loved. And I’ve been heartbroken. Did you think one can mention the topic of healing as a mere objective observer of pain? Don’t you think that was a hint of emotional bewilderment I had with myself?” He waited for her reply. “Yes, but, surely romantic wrinkle wouldn’t be my first guess. You are so content with yourself, Mr. Cynic, we barely think of you as vulnerable given to emotions like ourselves. I do not wish to be an additional person to misunderstand you or put you in a box that you don’t fit. But that is the usual assumption one could get from few acquaintances.” “Do not worry, I’m not offended. You just seem to be a keen observer and I wanted to hear your first impressions of me.” He said and both chuckled forgetting the cloud of sadness they wore in their eyes. 

“How do you come up with such a title, though?” She inquired. “Because…” Both felt his shortage of words was because of unrecovered wounds of love. “I avoided romance for the fear of agony it would result. For the wrinkles and scars that would be imprinted on my heart. And yet, I stood wrinklier than ever for all the times I’ve let myself feel love.” He tried to hide his despair in a rather few words. Words that could never suffice the reality of truth he felt inside. “I bet this is not an issue for you now that you’re married?” He rather stated than asked. Lady creativity gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes and said, “you would be amazed to see the wrinkles of my heart if it were ever possible. I am forever tied to my pain and the ultimate cause of my wrinkles. Yes, I do not resent or regret the life I have. I most definitely am what I am because of it. But, wrinkles! Oh, the wrinkles would never fade or straighten because you are married, that I can say for sure.” “You must not be talking about the wrinkles around my eyes…”, said Mr. Exhaustion settling beside Lady Creativity. “I wouldn’t dare, for million years! Your Greatness!”, said Creativity in not so loud voice. “I’ve never heard of that title before. Is that, by any chance, your real name, sir?” Followed Mr. Cynic. “yes, yes. I once was Mr. Greatness. Big deal! So the wrinkles?!”, replied Exhaustion.

The squad seems to gather after a while. Miss Imagination and Over-thinker came together following the engaged couple. “Romantic Wrinkle! Why would you link such words together? It is unfit to hear.”, shuddered Miss Imagination while adding sugar to her latte. “Just drink your latte,  Hallucination.”, called out Exhaustion. “I believe there is no better combination for these two words. I…”, gulped on his coffee and continued. “I believe the huge waves of love are more than capable of forming crinkles on one’s heart. And it would be more than wrong to assume that anyone is free from them. It could not be romantic love per se. But the love you have for your mother, or friends or to life itself results in a wrinkle time and time again.”

Everyone pondered on his comment for a while. Ms. Over-thinker then remarked, “even the love you have for your thoughts, the obsession you have for definitions in life, or affection and admiration you give for things you construed in your head are powerful enough to scar you for life. To scar your innocent heart due to the lengthened affection you acquire.” Ms. Coffee cleaned up the table while silence reigned amongst them. 

“Can we talk about something happy now?”, inquired Imagination after a while. “Please do, darling”, said Anxiety eagerly. Mr. Cynic and Lady Creativity exchanged a look for a moment and exhaled. The night went on in a pleasing tone filled with laughter while these two kept on zoning out for the most part. Anxiety followed talking about her exciting day, and everyone seemed to enjoy the merry spirit. As it was Friday night, all stayed for a bit longer than usual. 

Near to midnight though, only Mr. Cynic and Lady Creativity remained where they were. “I feel like a statue sitting here for so long”, said Cynic. “Aren’t we a statue, a moving statue anyway? We rise, walk, and sit being polished for someone else to see. Straightening the wrinkles of our hearts not to resurface on our skins? But yes, we are numbed for sitting for too long, aren’t we?” She returned her face to his. “For more romantic wrinkles on the way!” He raised his glass of water to collide it with hers. She nodded with a shred of agony on her face. “I must leave now. Tomorrow has already begun. I should go and polish myself, don’t you think?”, said Mr. Cynic and left the shop at once.

She rather lingered at the shop scribbling a few words in her notebook. And when she finally took her eyes off her notes, she saw her husband walking in her direction. He did not leave her as the letter he left suggested. He reached and hugged her tightly for so long. She felt her eyes wet, her throat closing up, and her heart forming, yet, another wrinkle.

When you have insomnia, you’re never really asleep, and you’re never awake. 

Antiquity is bestowed on the place in every corner. Everywhere you look there lies an original and ancient look tidying up the place. The front counter is surrounded by great paintings. There are multiple coffee makers collected from many places. The cultural, and yet the modern webs gave the place a peculiar view. 

Today’s salon (a regular meeting of writers, artists…) was about healing. Since almost everyone had a pain of their own, the issue was not to be taken lightly. The new member of the group, Mr. Cynic, started by saying there is no way one can be healed completely. All the eyes looked in his direction. He took a sip of his coffee and continued. “If pain is inevitable, and life is a continuum reality of pain, hardship, and disappointment, how is it possible for the ultimate existence of healing?” Anxiety pressed her lips and continued to consume her latte with all fury there is. While trying her best in monitoring her tone, she uttered a mumble. Mr. Cynic looked in her direction. She sighed again and said, “you cannot possibly think that’s a mere definition of life, can you? If so, how dark your life must be? If it was not for the hope of better days and alleviation of pain, how can anyone get out of bed to live for today? Do you even hear yourself?” The last two sentences were filled with uncontrolled vibration and a hint of disgust. “All I’m trying to say is,” continued Mr. Cynic, “there is no absolute state of healing where one can reach. Yes, I agree with what you have said, at least partly. My point is that you could find a way to manage your pain or even alleviate it to some extent. But, can we call that a healed state?”

Lady Creativity cleared her throat and said, “I get what you are trying to say, Mr. Cynic. But I think there is that level of inner peace and ultimate cordial state of oneself, after all. In a heat of the moment, that could seem like a very far-fetched phase. My question is this: when you say healing, are you trying to say the restoration of one’s health to a previous state or is there a new state one can reach to?” Mr. Exhaustion pulled his strength to point out his belief. “If healing is defined as restoration, I will definitely side with the newbie here. There is no way one can ever fully wipe out his fatigue with or without time. But, a new kind of health is a little bit of something we don’t know. So I believe there may be is that kind of healing.”

While Exhaustion was talking Ms. Over-thinker was looking for a quote she read on the left wall of the coffee shop. 

“One always has exaggerated ideas about what one doesn’t know.” Albert Camus. “The Stranger.” 

As soon as he was done talking she read the quote out loud. Multiple pairs of eyes shifted towards the left. “I’m just saying,” continued Ms. Over-thinker while fidgeting her fingers through a strand of her hair. “What if we are thinking high of this new state since we do not know about it? Can we really rely on this definition of healing for something we don’t really know? I do not believe in complete restoration for that matter, but I cannot, in my right mind, settle for something I cannot comprehend let alone define in my own words.” Ms. Coffee rose to refresh their drink and to help Mr. Tea around the counter since new customers were entering the shop.

“So what if you cannot comprehend it? Can you not imagine it?” Ms. Imagination followed. “If you can think about it this much, you already have a map for it. And if you can imagine it, I think it’s powerful enough to exist.” She continued to fill on her chocolate cookie. All of them were staring at her as if she was an alien of some sort. That was classic Imagination. She was too naïve for this world. For her, life was that simple definition that can be articulated in her mind without being sifted through the crude reality. 

Not a single person dared to say anything after her last comment. This was a new level of innocence she portrayed today. Mr. Stress, who was sensing the intense atmosphere, broke the silence with the quickest wit he could think of. “If life was always bright, we wouldn’t have invented flashlight, would we?” He grinned to himself. Everyone smiled at that comment. “Look Hallucination (he was the one who gave Imagination this name, and she did not like it), you may think just the way you said it. But life is not all about imagination. If that’s the case, it is a hallucination. It cannot be real. Imagination is a sprinkle of life. You cannot really define the main dish with an extra of your dessert. For the record, I do not think stress/pain can ever be fully overcome. I’m with Mr. Cynic on this one.” 

The debate continued for quite some time. It got so late that the city was starting to sleep. Silence and darkness reigned the town except for this one corner. Insomnia was the greatest bonding feature for the customers of this place. They no longer see it as a problem or negative quality. The solace of being awake and cautious of your surrounding was a blessing rather than a curse. For Creativity, it was one of her favorite hours. Ms. Over-thinker shines during the nighttime. The betrothed couple, Anxiety and Stress, wouldn’t call it a blessing per se. And yet it wouldn’t be the worst part of the day. Mr. Cynic never had a fondness for sleep. His underlying question about the matter was his wonder about dreams and where exactly sleep would take him. Almost all of them were always awake even if they miss a visit to the café. But can you really be awake when you have insomnia? That was a real inquiry. 

But later that night, at her home, Lady Creativity scribed these words. Healing is, well, healing. No one has ever reached the ultimate state. Even if they say they do, it is impossible not to imagine they are probably just saying it out of denial or temporary relief of some sort. But I would be delighted if they really achieve it as they actually say. Based on my own keen observation, I must say, healing is neither a restoration nor abolition of pain. It is rather a new contract signed with pain and scar. Whoever felt intense pain, is doomed to live with the scars it resulted. And a scar is never to be replaced with new skin nor to be the way it was. And pain is a constant company. It is highly unlikely for it to leave once it is acquainted. 

As she put down her pen, she looked right at her husband. She was engulfed with immediate joy when she saw he was sleeping today. Mr. Depression moved to his other side as if he felt her stare. She stood up to brew herself, yet another coffee. The night was almost ending, and she was creating. 

Insomnia is a glamorous term for thoughts you forgot to have in the day.

-Alain de Botton.

On the street corner of a certain city, there was a café called “Insomnia Café”. It was a great antiquity coffee shop in the city. It was inhabited by constant customers. Ms. Coffee, the owner of the shop, has maintained the property for quite some time. Rumor has it, the opening of the coffee shop goes back to 5/6 centuries back. Although Ms. Coffee is not the first manager of the place, the name has been coming down from generation to generation. It was almost a title to be held the moment anyone assumed the position. Her fellow co-workers such as Mr. Tea were not unpopular either. 

The café has quite a schedule every single day. Unlike many other shops, it doesn’t consent to any rules. Amongst the constant customers, Ms. Anxiety, Mr. Stress, Mrs. Creativity (the oldest member of the group), Mr. Exhaustion and Ms. Imagination (Hallucination, as some would like to call her) are the constant dwellers. There were rather some occasional guests like Ms. Over-thinker, who comes during the quiet hours to avoid the constant meetings. If Ms. Over-thinker is to be present, that means she wants to be distracted by constant conversations. No one wonders where she goes if she were absent. But they always enjoyed her company when she was around. This was especially true for Ms. Anxiety and Mr. Stress.

During the morning time, Mrs. Creativity and Mr. Exhaustion are the first attendants. Ms. Coffee starts to serve her best beverages with them. Lady Creativity comes up with a fresh outlook on the day along with the cold air of the morning. Mr. Exhaustion, almost always, tries to steal her energy to wipe off his ludicrous face before he goes to his office. Ms. Coffee sits beside Creativity to get inspired for the day. She usually ends up painting or quoting her idea on the wall. She was the very reason why she loved her job. 

Ms. Coffee was not always happy about her shop. Stress and Anxiety were her living shreds of evidence for that very reason. If it was up to her, she sometimes wonder to change the shop into a restaurant or something else. Mr. Insomnia, her great great grandfather, was not a very healthy man per se. Some would like to refer to him as Inso-maniac. Ms. Coffee had obtained his notes from his room very recently. She figured that her former families did not find or cared for the content. But, he pointed out that coffee was his enemy and savior multiple times. As many would do, her family chose the positive one rather than the negative one. No one even knew his problem. His despair was discarded more than his joyful moments. Ever since then, she sometimes feels guilty as if she was selling poison to the crowd. But, Creativity was her very reason to look forward to the next day. 

Mr. Exhaustion was the very reason she wanted to quit the job. She never had enough amount of drink to take away his exhaustion. Morning time was the worst. He is always cranky, but usually quiet as if he was mad at everyone. She keeps her distance to give him all the space he wanted. He always comes around a few hours later. 

Lady Creativity, the most respected member of the group, was always the source of the topics for the discussion. Even occasional guests leave the shop with such admiration and respect every time they visited. No one knew that she was married to Mr. Depression 20 years ago except Ms. Coffee. That was one of the reasons to leave her home at her earlier convenience. She never resented marrying him, though. It brought the very best side of her for so long. Besides, except on the worst days, her husband is the greatest fan and critic she has. Mr. Depression was also a customer at the café, although no one recognized him as that. He came early or very late before anyone arrives to grab his coffee. His rush and negative aura made it impossible for anyone to give him a second look let alone recognize who he was.  

On his good days, he enjoyed the company of his wife and Ms. Coffee too. This was also one of the resolving points regarding the dilemma of Ms. Coffee. She was always satisfied by his appearance. Part of her must be relieved for Lady Creativity, too.

The café was not that large when it comes to its size. But it could accommodate around 50 or more people on average. The arrangements of the chairs were to suit any kind of customer. The sofas were usually used by the permanent members. The long tables attached to the glass walls were used by the solitude lovers. The hard chairs were usually used by those who choose to be dispassionate about coffee or any extra activities for that matter. They visit the shop out of the mere necessity of the day, they just don’t want to accept that it was being a need to go through their days. They are usually with books or magazines to occupy their hands which is to mean they are the busiest member of their surrounding. That was why, unlike the solitude lovers, whenever discussions and arguments filled the air, the dispassionate members hurried to leave. It was like their cue to leave the place. 

But, one day, an exception to this group was found. His name was Mr. Cynic. As much as he was trying to avoid the constant gatherings, he couldn’t help himself not to say anything regarding the issue on the table. It was hard to say he fitted in that group. But he was always oblivious to what was happening in his surrounding. But, that day marked the additional member of the group. Lady Creativity enjoyed his company most. Ms. Anxiety and Mr. Stress did not like him by a bit. Ms. Coffee was glad when she saw him socializing. Ms. Anxiety wanted to defend herself so much she almost spilled her coffee at his face. Ms. Over-thinker was trying to figure out her true reactions toward him. Everyone was intrigued by his countenance for he could not care about any of the reactions he was getting.