7 of 366

What is it with 7 and luck?

 

I’d rather be grateful than lucky.

Yes, I talk to the universe and all, especially when an awful fist of luck knocks me out like a domino falling, hitting me hard one blow after the other…or when nothing seems to be going my way no matter which way I go…or even when everything is dead blank and pitch dark yet and still the stars are too flicker on me…mostly, during the times I have to have something to blame and I could no longer force the blame on myself or to anyone. Yes, I do talk to the universe when I feel that I am the unluckiest earthling alive. It would seem like I am believer of luck. I may seem to be. But luck has never been kind to me. I even doubt if it ever exists.

Maybe when the universe is being less of a bitch and is starting to force a ray of good luck upon me, I am really not lucky at all.

Luck is too random to believe in and the universe is too bitchy to be nice to a random and insignificant earthling like me. But there is a stronger force, greater force behind the universe that makes me feel grateful instead. I am ever grateful, oh yes, I am, that as days fall off, I may falter but I don’t end with them.

Today marks the 7th day of my new year. With or without luck, I am grateful. With or without stars, I am grateful. I am grateful because I am alive to count up to this day that is about to end.

Tomorrow is another shot at winning fist fights with the universe.

Bring it on.

ER Diaries

“A hospital alone shows what war is.” -Erich Maria Remarque
 
Five hours. I was bored. I was impatient. But I certainly felt an inch luckier I was not the one bleeding, crying, and barely-breathing.

I was the watcher. I was supposed to watch over my patient. But I did more than that. Actually, my patient did not need much of my ‘watching’ because he slept through the entire waiting time. So what I did was quite a retaliation on my part because I did not want to be there. I did not put on a fancy black dress to pace back and forth on the tiled floors of the emergency room. All I wanted was to have a peaceful Sunday morning, have a quiet breakfast, hear mass and sleep through the entire afternoon. But I was there. I had too. I did not have a choice. That was my choice though. To be there. And so I had to make myself productive. I watched then. I watched every single drama in the emergency room. I was bored, but I was being moved by the things I was seeing out of watching.

Bleeding.

I could not imagine to be in that mother’s shoe: being blamed by her husband and her mother-in-law for missing a wink of watching over her son, and just like that, her son got hit by a tricycle and bled on the ground. She was trembling as she was trying to explain how everything that fast could happen, convincing her family, but more so herself, that she did not mean for the accident to happen. Of course, it was an accident. I saw the blood on the poor boy’s forehead. It was a sight that would have had me unconscious if that boy were my son. What a torture it is indeed to feel blameful for something you did not intend to happen. I mean the last thing you wanted to do is to hurt the one you love, but it happens and it breaks your heart why it should happen. Is it really beyond your control? You begin to question yourself. That is the thing about accidents I guess. My heart goes out to that poor mother.

Crying.

I saw half a dozen sick babies at the Paediatrics today. They were just babies, and yet they were there, crying, but not entirely understood what was causing their pain. Many times we want other’s attention for the pain we feel and yet they don’t seem to understand, and really, all we can do is cry. Like babies, we cry. And these mothers? They kept on explaining to every doctor, every nurse, every random staff attending to them, what had started the pain their babies were enduring, and yet, no one could really pinpoint what was wrong. They could only guess. Yes, guess. This pain guessing game is really complicated, right? Why can’t we just admit where and why and how we are hurt. It is not like we are babies who could not speak for ourselves. But then we are all like babies sometimes. We let other people second guess our pains, and all we receive are second-rate antidotes for our pains. Babies continued to cry. One stared back at me for a moment, stopped crying, and then started crying again. The crying might never stop.

Barely-breathing.

She looked like one of my teachers before. I smiled at her, waiting for a recognition, but maybe she just resembled her because she smiled back without the recognition I was waiting for. She was out of breath while seated on her wheel chair. She did not have anyone with her. It might have been terrible to catch your breath, alone, without a hand to hold as you try to fill your lungs with air. When we are out of breath sometimes, we yearn for somebody to breathe with us, to remind us that life goes on. But sometimes we are too busy worrying where else we can get a breath of new air and fail to notice that we have been on life-support all along by another person’s breath of air. Why do we worry so much? A sigh itself is a waste of breath, but we let go of it in despair, and complain of being out of breath. I did not know much of the lady’s case. I did not have time to talk to her. She barely had enough air to spare for herself than to engage herself with a casual conversation with a bored stranger like me.

Three stories. I have more actually. But I am too overwhelmed by all these realizations and yet, for a moment there, I thought I would really break down.

I was bleeding, crying and barely-breathing. But I must be lucky I was not on a hospital bed.

I guess I would last another day.

Dim Sum Break with Confucius

Time for another Odd Trio prompt: write a post about any topic you want, in whatever form or genre, but make sure it features a slice of cake, a pair of flip-flops, and someone old and wise.

 life-is-simple-confucius

Confucius came to have breakfast with me this morning, with a slice of cake and a pair of flip-flops.

“I read the Fault in Our Stars and I find the Augustus Waters’ metaphors very inspiring that I have come to show you a couple metaphors, too,” Confucius greeted me, beaming at the slice of cake and the pair of flip-flops.

“I know your question even before you ask me about it. For a change, why don’t you give me an answer and I will tell you if you have the right question,” he continued as I offered him too pick anything from the dim sum platter.

“So a slice of cake, and a pair of flip-flops. They are metaphors, huh?” I started talking, struggling for the answers I need to give him so I may know if I am asking the right questions.

“I need a break, I know, wise man.”

“You do?”

“Yes. And a slice of cake and a pair of flip-flops are just the things I need.”

“Is that right?”

Sometimes talking to someone very old and wise makes me impatient, but I knew what he was trying to lead me on.

“Life is too delectable to go solo on a sweet fix. A slice of cake will do, and a slice means others have their one slices too. We all deserve something sweet, then we might as well share the pleasure this life gives us.”

“I am listening,” he mumbled through the steamy sweet buns.

“Wearing a pair of flip-flops is the best feeling after walking on a plank in high heels. Sometimes going flat makes us feel the ground better and appreciate the roads we journey more.”

“I am listening,” he told me, this time, smiling with eyes closed as he took pleasure devouring a couple of spring rolls.

“I am glad you came with a slice of cake and a pair of flip-flops,” I thanked him, as I popped a fried dumpling into my mouth, smiling through bits that fall off each time I chewed.

“Did you like the metaphors?”

“Did I get them right?”

“I don’t think that is what you want to ask,” Confucius grabbed a fortune cookie and started to leave his seat. he gave me wink and then he disappeared.

“I know right,” I smiled at an empty space. I got a fortune cookie myself, more interested on how it tasted than what the piece of paper inside would say.

“I should be wise enough to know what to do with this life. And I need more than luck to do this.”

 

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http://www.dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/odd-trio-redux/