The sunlight streamed in through the gap between the thin curtains. Bright. Very bright. But not unwelcome, unusually, for the day was a good one. Strangely enough, I was happy to see how it was bright yet peaceful. No sound would penetrate this peacefulness – I wouldn’t let it. It put a content smile on my face, seeing the bright light highlight irrelevant objects strewn across the floor and the rest of the light filtered into a soft blue colour over myself and the room around me.

This was what you would call a zen moment. The normally chaotic mess seemed beautiful and everything was calm. Not a bird sung, nor a mouse squeaked, not a noice. A noise would disrupt the peace, after all.

I often wonder why people are in such a rush to do nothing. Why jobs are left unfinished, work left half done so they can rush home as fast as possible so they can do… Nothing. It would make more sense for them to be rushing to do something. Rushing to finish that last homework essay; to learn the lyrics to their favourite song; to add the last few finishing touches to the painting they have been working on for days on end, ruining their sleeping pattern in the process. But no. They rush to do nothing. Why? It’s not like doing nothing is a requirement or gives any enjoyment.

Nothing is actually quite an interesting concept. It can inflict many different emotions upon a person: anger at waiting to be seen at the A&E for a simple yet crucial procedure that could have been over and done with hours ago but having received nothing as feedback; boredom on a Summer’s afternoon when it’s too hot to move, let alone do something so nothing is what takes its place; anxiety during the hours of nothing while waiting for an expected phone call; despair when calling out to a friend who fell over the edge into the hungry waters and receiving nothing in return.

Nothing means everything while everything means nothing.