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…

Life is fragile. Of all people, I should know this by heart. Having been sickly (and a mainstay of the hospital) since I was an infant, I know that I am basically living on borrowed time – and my debt is growing.

For a fleeting moment, I almost forgot that I should be grateful… until three people I know were admitted to the ICU in a matter of two days. Sadly, one of them, a dear family friend living abroad, died an unexpected death after just two days of experiencing nausea and headaches. She was supposed to graduate today.

When it rains, it doesn’t just pour; it floods, results in overflowing dams, and leads to a national state of calamity. And I keep wondering, when am I next? Isn’t it my turn yet?

After being labeled as “Made in China” by my rehab doctor when she realized that my body had defective bones, cartilages, and tendons, I felt slightly outraged. Aside from that statement being rather racist (and very insulting to our Chinese friends), being bluntly stereotyped as defective was not something I could swallow comfortably. Still, I kept my tongue in check because I knew the doctor was simply trying to make a point.

But to make things clear: NO, I’m NOT Chinese. And I’ll brandish my Samurai sword – who minds the bloodshed? – if anybody dares to refute my word.

And defective or not, I know exactly how to wield my sword… er, maybe not literally, but figuratively at least. This rather frail person, ladies and gentleman, is armed and dangerous, ready for battle. Bring it!

It’s my first time on Lookbook, so bear with me… But I do hope I get to post more outfits there soon. ^_^

 

If you’re also on Lookbook, take a look at my pictures via my Lookbook Profile. See you on Lookbook!

Here’s a small excerpt of a story I wrote ten years ago. Yes, that’s right, a decade has passed since I last wrote this little chapter. Funny thing is, I failed to finish the story – and I have no idea how I wanted it to end back then! Oh well, I hope that posting it here will help jog my memory:

Chapter III: “Shift”

And the shift was there.

It wasn't part of the deal. It never was. But there it was, rearing its familiar head.

Of all the questions creating a total potatohead of me, the thing I most wanted to ask was: why?

Sometimes, I would wonder if I was just misled by his new kindness. His wanting to check out this new mall with me. His asking me if I still liked this certain guy, because he “had to know.”

Okay. Maybe there was something there indeed. But the inevitable ambivalence, the shock of it, the surprising discovery that it was even remotely possible, was what actually scared me the most.

What I think will happen: we lay down the cards and talk about it, and we try to go from there.

What I really think will happen: we won't dare let it out. We will bury it deep down and just look at each other because we just know. We just... know.