When I was little, I used to ask my mother when I would have my own little brother. Since I was in second grade, I’d constantly pray for one. “A little brother, please,” I’d say while closing my eyes shut, as if that actually helped my cause. Thinking back, I knew my wishes back then were trivial, untainted, and blissfully ignorant.
Of course, I had to grow up eventually. But even as I started to feel that maybe I would be an only child forever, I never really stopped praying. I no longer closed my eyes in earnest, and I no longer believed that dreams came true instantly – but I knew I still carried the same childish wishes inside me. After all, all my prayers have been answered thus far.
And it seems that my track record when it came to prayers and wishes was yet to be broken. Two years into highschool, my mother announced that she was pregnant – with a boy, nonetheless! I was thirteen, almost too old to be expecting my one and only baby brother.
But I never forgot that little girl in pigtails who never quit wishing, who never stopped hoping. I know, I know, I’m too naive and I believe too much in happy endings and wishes coming true. Perhaps I’m too hopeful for my own good, especially at my age and given my chosen profession.
You see, I have a heart that won’t quit. Actually, I stand corrected – it just might quit, one day when I least expect it to. But the spirit that keeps it alive won’t give up, that same spirit that keeps it beating one more beat, that keeps it fighting one more fight. And maybe, just maybe, if I made a wish fervently enough, I just might be given the chance to live my life till I have wrinkles and my hair turns white and my knees no longer work.
I’m closing my eyes shut. I’m making that wish…