So yesterday night, just before falling asleep – when you’re swinging between reality and illusion – my mind pondered about what happens after someone dies. As if on cue, my mind assumed that I died and decided to show what may happen after I die.

I see myself being ushered in to a room which is fluffy, full of bean bags, is pristine, white and soft. I see two guys sitting at one side of the room and are watching something on the television. They notice me and greet me. They hug me, one by one. I see them wearing track pants and simple tees.

One of them has long hair, and has a hammer and nails near his spot. The other one has a big bowl of butter and cream. I’m perplexed, but go with the flow. They ask me my interests and I reply in kind. I like movies, books, music, and art. I forgot to ask them their interests, because I never liked imposing my interests on anyone else. As if reading my mind, they say that even they like to watch movies and read books and such.

We jam instantly, and watch the movies and series that I wanted to watch, that I didn’t want to watch. I listened to songs with them. We hummed the lyrics together, and felt the Goosebumps around the same time. I saw their face lit up when any art work touched their heart, and I knew it because art strikes me such. We spend a long time talking about what my opinions are, what runs into my mind, and they listen. They argue, they agree, they acquiesce, they support, they reject, they rejoice.

I forgot about my hunger and thirst. I was talking and talking and talking. It felt like there would be no end.

Then I grew tired. I tell them that I am tired. They understand, and let me be. I ask them, why is it only you two sitting here? Don’t you have any she friends? They giggle. ‘of course we have loads of friends, of all genders. They’re hanging out elsewhere. Not all of us has the same taste you see’, they make a passing remark.

I choose a cozy beanbag to lie down on. I curl myself, bring my knees near my chest, and rest my head on my left hand. I drift off to sleep. I slowly feel myself growing younger and younger and younger, until I’m an unborn in a womb.

I tend to forget about the two folks with who I discussed so much.

And then I see myself as a two year old, knocking on their apartment door again. One of them opens the door and exclaims, ‘you just went outside to play, you came back so soon?’

‘I missed your company’, I meekly replied in a voice that’s not mine but of an infant’s.

I heard them giggle and I in turn snorted while laughing. And I slept.