Typical malady

It was a constant reminder that we are irrelevant, one minute piece of convoluted atoms. My ridiculously weak, uncoordinated body has taken its toll. The schizophrenic weather, so apt for Janus, the two faced creature to whom this month is named, affirmed my theory that I get sick when the all exams are set and all papers and pleadings are due.

The thing is, for eight years, I've been getting by on my own. If I hadn't called my mom when I was sophomore in college, I wouldn't have gone to the hospital to find out I had dengue. But it has always been a thing of mine. I get my semestral dose of coughs and colds without me caring anymore. Once the symptoms kick, the slow burn reaction seems fine. I take, with utter disgust, a combination of doctor-prescribed medicine and herbal dose courtesy of relatives' insistence on a natural way of living. A few blue days of rest on my own, with rolls of tissues not just for jerking off; gallons of water consumed. All the shit. It was inevitable, and it is in this predetermined fate, that made me prefer the burden alone.

Contra to my sister's case, who unfortunately acquired the remnants of the pesky viruses that once insulated my body. We were always taught, intricately raised by our parents, to survive without relying on others. But not last night. The lights were turned on at one in the morning, the uninvited sound of kettle brewing, and a few minutes after, of her girlfriend forcing her to take a dose of some medicine while patting her with warm towel to ease the burning temperature. A completely different picture. The cynicism in me will never leave, but there was relief in seeing the comfort, the affection despite the glim conditions of the room.

The sentimental dose was luckily interrupted by the my earphone, streaming Looking, the latest venture of HBO on gay-themed show (And yes, Sex and the City is gay.). It is, as the story progresses, to be a tale of being gay in the warm atmosphere of San Francisco, the psychotic circus of finding a significant other, the struggle of keeping one when found. The first episode was promising, probably because it was familiar. Or probably because I marvelled over the previous work of the director and producer. Or maybe because I think it's time to step away from the malady that is self-despair and over-thinking, the consciously inflicted isolation. Hopefully, tonight's dinner is step one.