There’s still time for Day 3. I tell myself this as I write today’s entry, wrapped in precisely 6 Salonpas patches on my arms, one foot up while the other dangles helplessly, bemoaning the fact that my everything hurts right now, but only doing so internally because if I moan out loud my headache would get worse.
But there’s still time for Stuphblog‘s Day 3. Yeah, I’m committed and all that. Whatever.
I just remember my parents: my dead father who whipped me into becoming the little public speaker he was so proud I had become, my mother who taught me that there is no option other than giving my best. My dad used to (this is going to be weird) pretend I had lice and would make lice-squashing actions on my head (it’s a Filipino thing, which is to “tusod“, squashing a louse using your two thumb nails) and it just makes all my headaches disappear and would lull me into slumber. Mother would know which ointments to use or which tea to make me drink, for things as trivial as whole-body-aching-supremely. They would know what to do with me, but as it is, I am alone and so I resort to Salonpas and whatever I remember from TV and by the love of Alderaan, if I could get me a morphine tablet I swear this will all be better.
Anyways, my father always sang this song every time he and his friends get together. I remember my elder sister giving him a sitting stool to stand on when he was trying to belt out the higher notes. My father hates it, but he keeps stepping up the chair every time this happens. Parents are weird.
Also, it’s Star Wars Day. May the 4th be with you.