’s post about what I would tell my past self about midnight. I have read their previous prompts and have always wanted to give it a try, but sometimes I lack confidence. However, this prompt caught my interest because it would be about my younger self, and I have always liked to talk to him about all the beautiful things I am now aware of—things he could not understand when I was young. I also remember that he was afraid of midnight, that he would hold his pee until morning just to avoid walking through the silent hallways of our house. He was that afraid of midnight. So, I will share what words I could tell him in this blog.
If my memory serves me well, I remember how dark-fearing the little boy I was in my younger years. Before 5:00 in the afternoon, after playing in the neighborhood, I was always already at home because I was afraid I might get caught up by the dark. Stories from fairytales and the narrations of my mother shaped my view of darkness when I was young, and I do not regret listening to those stories because they kept me from wandering around the neighborhood late in the day—or let’s say, they kept the sneaky little boy from going outside the house when it got dark. Not only did I fear the darkness of dusk, but also the darkness that came when the clock hit midnight. I did not sleep in my own room at night as I always preferred sleeping with my parents to feel safe and comfortable. There was this fear I developed at midnight that made me not want to wake up during those hours, even if I needed to go to the bathroom. He was so silly and dumb for fearing this natural absence of light, not knowing that it would help him find himself soon.
If I were given the chance to talk to my younger self about midnight, I would tell him about the peace, the safety, and the comfort it gives me—or let’s say, gives both of us. Growing up, I have learned how much peace silent and dark spaces can give, just like midnight. I never thought that in the years to come, my view about midnight and the dark would change into something beautiful. Midnight is now my comfort hour—a time of day when I am free and finally moving without thinking about my surroundings. These hours, in the company of darkness, give me plenty of time to think and reflect on how my day went, to meditate peacefully, and to freely do small activities like reading or a bit of cleaning—things I cannot do during the daytime. I even like to reflect with the lights off, without any fear. I find it peaceful to be alone in the dark, unseen, doing what I want without judgment or the feeling of being watched. It makes me scribble my late-night thoughts meaningfully, finding words to affirm myself and give explanations for what has happened in my life in the previous days.
To my younger self, I know you might still be afraid of the darkness that fills the house, and I completely understand you feeling that way. I won’t change your view of midnight because it is essential for your growth to understand things on your own. So, I will just tell you how I am feeling now as your future self whenever midnight hours arrive. It is safe here, and there is nothing scary or harmful. There is no monster lurking in the darkness you fear, but rather a silence that helps calm the mind. It even silences the monsters in my head, though not everyone knows how to do that. I would say they just have to accept themselves while they stay in the dark. I am healing during these hours, and everything makes sense whenever I stay up late at night. I can still hear the howling winds and the crows, but they cannot enter the house—not even your imagination. They are good creatures, by the way, and I’ve learned to love nature at this age. I know you are afraid of these hours, and I apologize for staying up late tonight. I just have to, because it keeps me sane and grounded. I hope you’ll learn to love the midnight hours and the dark sooner when you grow up like me. Don’t be embarrassed to befriend it. Most of my emotional friends say it is a good time to cry out your burdens, and you know what—it actually is. I have done it hundreds of times, and no one will shame you for letting your tears fall to the old floor of the house. You can even read your midnight poems, but not aloud because the other family members are sleeping. You can read the fairytales we used to read and write some haikus we used to struggle to compose. You can even dance, feel the passing of hours, and sleep like a baby who fears nothing. And by tomorrow, you’ll wake up feeling a lightness—as if the burden of yesterday was ended by the midnight hours.
I am writing this at midnight, 1:00 A.M., in our loc time and I hope tomorrow I will wake up with joy in my heart.
See you, little boy.
