I know it is hot outside, trust me I do. I was the same person who was sweating all my salts and water out in the morning, I do remember. But if you remind that to my fingers now, they will give you the stare of a lifetime, because, I..my dear folks..am frozen.
I am doing my electives in Psychology, ey. The good old electives..I have been obsessing about them for more than three months and finally I am here. And what stories I have to tell…
But for now, I have the tale of the Iceland. It is pretty cold inside the hospital. And I have always had a bad circulation, I go numb at the slightest of breeze. I spend half of my summers without switching the fan on. And here I am, typing away in the library, my nose minutes from falling into my lap ; red and raw. My feet screaming and cursing my open shoes and my legs threatening to desert me any moment.
The rational thing is to get out, get hopping or just go out of the premises into the grounds, road, open fire…I dunno, but I am way too lazy to walk that far. So I got out and sat in-front of the nearest window, pressing my palms against the tinted glass. It feels warm, toasty and nice. Comforting and tranquil. I think Imma stay here for a while.
I wonder how stubborn and rubbery some of us are. How truly incorrigible. Unbreakable, infinite. History comes and goes, time and again, repeating itself, punishing us for the same mistakes over and over and we still stand there. Tall as ever, been hit so many times but still alive; breathing, smiling, laughing.
It’s that permanent stage of deja vu. That ‘been there, done that’ situation that makes it impossible to savour a moment of peace or pain. How many times have you been in and out of a hospital, lugging around with your loved ones, putting on a brave face. How many times have you stood besides them and known that they were not gonna make it but you still hope that some miracle would save them, make them young again and take all the disease away from them. How many times have you stood in-front of the mirror, praying the same thing for yourself.
Well, I am in a waiting room myself. Again. Praying for another loved one, one that actually gave birth to me. Praying she makes it. Praying some miracle would come and suck all the pain and anger from her. Make her young again. Praying I had someone right now to sit besides, even silently so. Just to know someone is there. I don’t wanna hold hands, nor do I wish for a shoulder to lean on. I have no one to do so either, so that takes care of it.
And when she dies, and I’m hit again. I know I’d still be here. Alive. And I’ll laugh and smile and breathe too. And you’ll never know just what I’ve been through. Just like now.