That was apt enough for my 2010. As I now sit at the edge of my bed, the alarm rings to the left, I recall bits and pieces of how the past one week has gone by; how I have welcomed 2011 all too irresponsibly and carelessly. Unknowingly, I shall add now.
For what it's worth, the nightmare has come to an end, almost (anyway). While that is over, the overwhelming stench of Vodka and Tequila, death that hit my nostrils like a wall, the echoes of unsaid conversations which loomed over white walls, doctor and nurses who waited, tapped uncertain thoughts into business engraved pens, my inconsistent breathing setting the beat for Mozart's piano, eyes zooming in like a fragile camera lens; all of which are caked crumbly in grace.
With shadowed figures moving in and out, I was like a small child puking violently into a glossy bowl for almost two days. The blood test routine at 2 a.m. dictated what I had to be: continuous puking, a body temperature of 40 degrees Celsius for almost 6 hours, dry heaving, an allergy developed towards aspirins, and morning cold showers (thrice, mind you!). For the very first time, I didn't want to be alone. More than that, I wanted to cheat on death. And for some strange, unknown reasons, I genuinely believed I was going to die: I picked up the phone and began to dial a few people I deemed close enough to be at my death bed (or rather, death phone). And yes, you got it right -- it was friggin' midnight -- nobody answered or that DIGI line failed me.
Perhaps, amid this cloud of experience, I see the responsibility of remembering your medication -- never to mix metronidazole with alcohol; an ex-fling sometimes may save your ass; five people you truly care for to be at your death bed is impossible; and it obviously sucks if you have gotta die alone in the middle of the night!
But, more than anything else, I want to walk away from the elegiac sounds of truth that human living is constantly justified upon the idea of communal living as if lifeless words breathed out in blades; away from the misanthropic shows of love as if carefree laughs and effortless smiles were to be witnessed and welcomed without a choice.
Yes, just borderline unintelligent, I needed another dime to escape and to crave another let down.
*Note to self: 2011 -- I am going to kick your ass hard!
For what it's worth, the nightmare has come to an end, almost (anyway). While that is over, the overwhelming stench of Vodka and Tequila, death that hit my nostrils like a wall, the echoes of unsaid conversations which loomed over white walls, doctor and nurses who waited, tapped uncertain thoughts into business engraved pens, my inconsistent breathing setting the beat for Mozart's piano, eyes zooming in like a fragile camera lens; all of which are caked crumbly in grace.
With shadowed figures moving in and out, I was like a small child puking violently into a glossy bowl for almost two days. The blood test routine at 2 a.m. dictated what I had to be: continuous puking, a body temperature of 40 degrees Celsius for almost 6 hours, dry heaving, an allergy developed towards aspirins, and morning cold showers (thrice, mind you!). For the very first time, I didn't want to be alone. More than that, I wanted to cheat on death. And for some strange, unknown reasons, I genuinely believed I was going to die: I picked up the phone and began to dial a few people I deemed close enough to be at my death bed (or rather, death phone). And yes, you got it right -- it was friggin' midnight -- nobody answered or that DIGI line failed me.
Perhaps, amid this cloud of experience, I see the responsibility of remembering your medication -- never to mix metronidazole with alcohol; an ex-fling sometimes may save your ass; five people you truly care for to be at your death bed is impossible; and it obviously sucks if you have gotta die alone in the middle of the night!
But, more than anything else, I want to walk away from the elegiac sounds of truth that human living is constantly justified upon the idea of communal living as if lifeless words breathed out in blades; away from the misanthropic shows of love as if carefree laughs and effortless smiles were to be witnessed and welcomed without a choice.
Yes, just borderline unintelligent, I needed another dime to escape and to crave another let down.
*Note to self: 2011 -- I am going to kick your ass hard!
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