FIFTY-FIVE
Am I going to die when I reach the age of 55? That’s the recurring question that resides in me. There are some explanations why I am trapped in this psychosis. There have been so many incidents that occurred upon me, and they dealt with that number. On my way to work, I normally check the time to see if I’m going to be on time. Most of the time, I see 5:55 in my car’s clock. The same thing happens on my way home. Strange, but that’s the truth.
A couple of days ago, another strange incidents happened. I queued up for the election. I was right after my husband. And guess what? Yes… 55. That’s my number. I try to rationalize through all these incidents. However, I cannot escape myself from it. It has been incorporated into my mind. This number is following me everywhere I go. Has it got something to do with my destiny?
I try to make the best of it. Therefore I imagine all the good things will be showered upon me when Im 55. I envision seeing my children becoming their own persons. They probably will have their own lives with their husbands and kids and the rainbow in the sky will be shining over the roofs of their houses. As the sun rises and shines the glittering beams, I see myself playing with my grand children in the backyard of our house, in the golden meadow as we call it.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
YESTERDAY
She ripped the front page of her desk calendar. “6 March”, that was yesterday. She stared into it before tearing them apart into tiny pieces and tossing them into the air. The bits and pieces flew into the cold air before they landed on the carpet, scattering all over, like the first snowflakes as they settle themselves on the soil to masquerade the arrival of winter.
As the color of the roses begins to fade away, blown by the wind and torn apart by the rain, the only lefts over visible parts were the dry stalks that have turned rumpled. The dried petals of the roses were scattering all over the ground and some traveled even further than the eyes can hold, before they infiltrate deep into the heart of the soil.
Droplets of sweat ran down on her blushing cheeks and chin, she was breathless standing in the corner of the Gym. The exercise had taken all the energy in her. She stood there rumpled, cold, and gray, like a piece of old meat, rotten and forlorn.
She stood there watching herself in the movie of the past. This gym had been the place where she spent her days and nights, nine hours a day through one whole year. Sweat, tears, pain, boredom, agony were all mixed up during all the painful exercises. Not to mention the nights that she had to go through while writing down her final paper. She used to ask herself, why she could end up in this part of life. But those questions remained a question untill the day the victory was awarded on her team's lap.
The Gym was full of spectators, cheering loudly. Flags, trumpets, and all kinds of yell filled up the air. Some even jumped over the iron bar just to join the celebration. The thrill that victory brought to the team was hard to describe. All the players were in tears, the tears of joy. They all hug each other, all the sweat, the smell and heat were associated with the ecstasy of winning. They smell so sweet. The pride was even more when the flag and the national anthem were echoing inside the gym. It was a glorious triumphant day, the day when she could conquer all the battles of life and beat all the obstacles that impeded her ways, the day when the ship sailed through the ocean of life without any shilly-shallying.
On the other side of the field, the other team, stood in silence, not believing that the game was over, and they lost it. Bemoan occupied this part of the crowd. Tears ran down on their cheek and they smell more like grief.
She stood there with the palm of her hand on her chest, as if she was holding the gold medal. Time has stolen everything away from her. Time has absorbed her speed, her youth and spirit, and replaced them with age, drowsiness and memories. Yesterday is not today, but today carried the traces of yesterday. Just like the pieces of the torn calendar and the petals of the roses, they were part of yesterday lay there frozen today, absorbed by gravity.
“….Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away”……………
She ripped the front page of her desk calendar. “6 March”, that was yesterday. She stared into it before tearing them apart into tiny pieces and tossing them into the air. The bits and pieces flew into the cold air before they landed on the carpet, scattering all over, like the first snowflakes as they settle themselves on the soil to masquerade the arrival of winter.
As the color of the roses begins to fade away, blown by the wind and torn apart by the rain, the only lefts over visible parts were the dry stalks that have turned rumpled. The dried petals of the roses were scattering all over the ground and some traveled even further than the eyes can hold, before they infiltrate deep into the heart of the soil.
Droplets of sweat ran down on her blushing cheeks and chin, she was breathless standing in the corner of the Gym. The exercise had taken all the energy in her. She stood there rumpled, cold, and gray, like a piece of old meat, rotten and forlorn.
She stood there watching herself in the movie of the past. This gym had been the place where she spent her days and nights, nine hours a day through one whole year. Sweat, tears, pain, boredom, agony were all mixed up during all the painful exercises. Not to mention the nights that she had to go through while writing down her final paper. She used to ask herself, why she could end up in this part of life. But those questions remained a question untill the day the victory was awarded on her team's lap.
The Gym was full of spectators, cheering loudly. Flags, trumpets, and all kinds of yell filled up the air. Some even jumped over the iron bar just to join the celebration. The thrill that victory brought to the team was hard to describe. All the players were in tears, the tears of joy. They all hug each other, all the sweat, the smell and heat were associated with the ecstasy of winning. They smell so sweet. The pride was even more when the flag and the national anthem were echoing inside the gym. It was a glorious triumphant day, the day when she could conquer all the battles of life and beat all the obstacles that impeded her ways, the day when the ship sailed through the ocean of life without any shilly-shallying.
On the other side of the field, the other team, stood in silence, not believing that the game was over, and they lost it. Bemoan occupied this part of the crowd. Tears ran down on their cheek and they smell more like grief.
She stood there with the palm of her hand on her chest, as if she was holding the gold medal. Time has stolen everything away from her. Time has absorbed her speed, her youth and spirit, and replaced them with age, drowsiness and memories. Yesterday is not today, but today carried the traces of yesterday. Just like the pieces of the torn calendar and the petals of the roses, they were part of yesterday lay there frozen today, absorbed by gravity.
“….Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away”……………
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