• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 07
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A muted blank night accompanies the porch. A male lizard crawls in circles, dragging a mating call towards a female lurking in behind light switches and wall creepers. Then they danced around the ceiling gaslamp; thoroughly indulging in the stillness of night. Add 'eating flies' and 'defecating on walls' into the scene and the lizard’s life purpose is showcased in a single night. The starless sky only meant one thing: night clouds are patrolling my town. I should probably pull in my semi-dry laundry from outside. Maybe after one cigarette.

There is a live telecast of tennis on the sports channel. UK’s pride in tennis, Murray, having the slight edge over New Balance posterboy Raonic with one game. The match is far from over. Both men display heaves of resilience and grit, back and forth the by-line. Murray, as if exemplifying my point, is wearing an impressive scruffy mustache and soul patch. It has been a grueling twenty-nine minutes of tennis. The sound of drizzle softly shifted my attention to the outside. I dragged my laundry stand in. Safe from the rain, the laundry smells like blooming flowers in spring.

After battling an eighteen hour migraine with my own brain, my whole body feels light. I can’t even feel my legs sometimes, let alone my toes. I was logy from all the vomiting and hair pulling. It was a nightmare and I don’t deserve to undergo such excruciating pain. What have I done to deserve such unimaginable pain? The aftermath is mental. I can safely say that a migraine of such magnitude is capable of warping my sense of reality. And it did. I’ve never felt more zoned out than I am right now. Walking to the kitchen feels like floating into space. My toes are detached from me. I can see them wriggle but I can’t sense their tug. I’m pretty damn sure, coupled with my seizures, these are early signs for brain tumor.



Just the thought of it: Brain Tumor. It depresses people. Put yourself in my shoes. You’ll feel depressed too.

In this brief moment in the sun, however, I still want to continue loving, I still want to continue caring and I still want to continue writing. The sun will always shine on us. She will. So let us welcome her with open arms and feel alive again. Life is short but its simple pleasures, however subjective they are, aren’t. Like how I’m watching a tennis ball being moved back and forth across my television screen with every hit. You got this Murray.