And I was looking for better words – words far superior to my own. Words that could make me travel worlds, force a spring out of the bed from me, breathe fervor into my steps and parallel me to life.
“Well, I think I might be dying and I came here for help. My poop is green Sir! And not like I ate too much spinach either, like I swallowed a lime highlighter, like if I switch off the bathroom light the thing is going to glow. And it hurts so badly when I breathe and …” I explained to my doctor who was then in fits of hysterical laughter. The night coming before this episode in a small physician’s room felt like it was my last. I made calls to my mother, boyfriend and brother who in spite of reactions similar to the doctor’s promised to follow up on my request to be checked on in the morning or otherwise confirm my death. I left my dorm door unlocked you know, for easy access to my corpse and all, and then fell asleep mid final prayers. (Okay, health anxiety mixed in with panic attacks is not that uncommon. Okay? Good)
When basking in the hilarious verdict of no death by green poop later on, the whole saga struck me in some kind of way.
THOUGHTS AFTER ‘GREEN POOP’
My perceived soon-to-be death reminded me of my life to-do list which had a lot of unchecked items. Incidentally, I feel that this would make an accurate tagline to my emergence in adulthood.
And this brings me to this next realization:
There is an eventual pain which escorts the heart when a life feels almost half-lived, when curiosities are ignored and when stepping up to the plate is short-changed.
Oh! And I remember thinking “Sweet Creator, I am not yet ready to leave Earth I like it here. It is the pain stabbing at my chest leading me to my plea, the pain of not doing what I know I should. I pay allegiance to the energies which fuel my creativity and passions. My mind operates in a wacky multiplicity that I should appreciate and exercise more. My heart left the sleeves and clung to the elbows. Though sometimes I allow for my vibes to be harshed, my godliness is my loveliness. Allow the means so that the stories entangled in my wrists no longer lock the bones; so that these feet walk the path I have been made far. Damn it, I cannot die a girl afraid of roller-coasters. I want to experience things worthy of fear like exercising true freedom, not caring what people think, matchless faith, dreaming big and all the things which bar human beings from complete contentment. I am willing myself to greatness in every moment; how about some of that before my exit please? ”
Music must be felt,
Life must be heard,
Time must be lived,
Joyful noise may peal from objects hit hard,
Hard-hit objects weaken,
break or bend,
If I must be,
Is it an instrument or the note it sounds?