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| Sometimes all you really need is the moonlight and a breeze to cheer you up. | | |
| if you fight for love...are you a fighter or a lover? | | |
| Rest in reason...move in passion. | | |
| Writing is terrifying. It's not the poor understanding of grammar or sentence structures that terrifies me, nor is it lack of interesting material. Those things can be learned and corrected over time. What terrifies me is sharing myself. When i started writing, it was purely for my own entertainment. But as more people started to read and comment, more I started to hide under my own skin. My own reluctance stands out to me when I read the older posts. I notice in my writing that every time my words found a stride, i found a way to hold them back.
I need to let the words flow through me. Senseless, unfiltered, and unedited. Dr. Watts is right; words don't have to make sense, but even the purely senseless writing, when uninhibited, reveals a lot about yourself. That's exactly why writing mattered to me.
Instead of trying to impress, I should just find words to express. | | |
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You can learn a lot from the waiting room of a cancer treatment center.
I couldn’t help but notice how crowded the waiting room was when I walked in on Monday morning. “Are there really that many cancer patients?” Of course there are. During my three trips to the center over past two months, I have never had a convenient time finding a parking spot in a five story parking garage. Within next few years, cancer will become the leading cause of death in U.S. So it is no surprise that the wait is getting longer and the rooms are getting smaller by the day. Here, everyone has a story to tell. Everyone is different story in itself. Even the cars that are covered with bumper stickers such as the pink ribbon or “I am a survivor” and “I kill cancer” scream silently the stories of endurance and hope.
When you have spent enough time in the waiting room, you start to notice small things. With just a glance you can read people more than they are willing to share. You can even tell how far they are in their treatment. Shoulder length hair on a sickly looking lady with hints of nervousness? She is most likely due for her second round of chemo. A hat, a scarf, or a wig with a forced smile will tell you that they are past their second dose. If you notice faded or missing eyebrows and glimmer of optimism, then they are nearing end of their treatment. Usually, each patient is accompanied by a carry-on size purse, some books, bills, a cell phone charger and an upbeat relative. It is important to bring enough material to keep yourself occupied when you are required to sit in a recliner for next five hours as they pump important chemicals down your veins.
As I sat there on a semicircle sofa occasionally glancing at the clock behind the counter and waiting patiently for our names to be called, I noticed a couple walk in through the main entrance; a tall middle age man with pale skin and a hat. They chatted for a while with the receptionist about their Christmas plans and their family traditions. It was obvious that they have been here several times before. After signing in their names on a check-in list, they guided themselves through crowded room to finally find set of empty seats next to us.
Wife: “They have water fountain here. Let me know if you need some water.”
Husband: “I am OK for now.”
Wife: “I brought laptop, all the bills and checkbook with us today.”
Husband: “I guess you should’ve brought the lawn too so you could mow it.”
I carelessly chuckled and inadvertently caught their attention. I felt guilty. I felt rude for distracting them from their own conversation. They looked at me and smiled to ease the obvious guilt in my eyes. I smiled back and looked away as fast as I could. I looked around and started to notice everyone around me. From laughter to giggles, from cracking fingers to tapping feet, everything became louder. There are crossword puzzles being penned in one corner, and there is a game of hangman between daughter and mother in another corner. There are small talks and bursts of laughter, and there are stories being told by the optimistic relative as everyone else around listened and laughed.
Few minutes of wait that turns into few hours of treatment eventually turns into weeks of pain, continuous nausea, intense fatigue and hours of tears along with plethora of other side effects. That’s if you are responding extremely well to the treatment. There I was in the middle of all this uncertainty to follow and only thing visible were the smiles and only thing audible were the laughter. I suppose that when uncertainty is the only certain thing in life, when days are bound to get darker, and when only thing to look forward to is to find something to look forward to, you just stay and cherish everything you have in that moment. Fortunately, you can always count on the small talk and short stories to keep you in that moment.
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