11.2

11:

One of my favorite numbers.

It’s probably because in elementary school, when we were assigned a class number, I was #11 for multiple years.

It was also the number of people in a group with whom I thought I’d be friends with forever.

11… 

More than 10, but less than 12.

There was something “odd” about it (no pun intended).

But this is probably another reason why this is one of my favorite numbers because I always felt like the odd one out.

2:

Not one of my favorite numbers, but I can appreciate it.

After all, they say two is better than one.

Two peas in a pod.

Two halves to a whole.

A lot of things come in pairs.

If we take the 1’s in 11 & add them, well, 1 + 1 = 2.

2 makes us feel complete.

2 tells us we get a second chance at life.

But when we add 11 & 2…

11 + 2 = 13

13:

The unlucky number & quite conveniently, my karmic debt number.

12 is considered universally perfect; it represents harmony & all good things.

But 13?

13 tells us that we took things one step too far, & now harmony has turned into discord.

13 causes us to look back & try to figure out where we misstepped.

Did we do too much just to receive so little?

We try to go back to the very beginning.

And that’s exactly what I did.

I made it back to the very beginning with a sad smile on my face.

But as I scrolled through the archived messages on my desktop, the system crashed.

Perhaps it was a sign that I wasn’t supposed to be looking.

If we take 11.2 & turn it around, it becomes 2.11.

And I see it as 2, 1, 1, as if I am nearing the end of a countdown to something big, but I am afraid to say “zero” because I fear becoming nothing. 

I’m counting down the days to my showcase, to my graduation, to moving back home, to my MCAT.

I’m counting the days I spend time with people, & the ones that pass where I wish I could renew a friendship.

I’m counting the days of my hair growing back, while hoping that the stress I’m feeling won’t cause it to thin again.

I close my eyes & count to 10, hoping this is all just a bad dream.

Because I’m terrified by the numbers.

Them.

It’s hard, I know.

They screw you over.

“It’s okay, we’re human.”

It happens again.

“Have patience.”

And again.

“Forgiveness is key. Don’t worry.”

And again…

You find yourself looking in the mirror,/ Trying to stare deep into your soul.

“What’s wrong with me?”

At this point, it’s time to let go./ You’ve done everything you could.

You’ve forgiven and tried to forget./ Then you realized that you can’t forget./ Because if you forget, did you learn your lesson?

You’ve loved when it was hard./ You’ve given, even when people told you it was pointless./ Who else would be there if you weren’t?

But sometimes they just don’t see it./ Sometimes they just don’t understand./ They don’t know the blood./ They don’t know the sweat./ They don’t know the tears.

They may have been there for years./ They may have been there for months./ And in an instance, gone./ Like they didn’t even know you./ Like you don’t even exist.

All you get is a head nod./ Sometimes just a stare./ And you crawl into your shell for a bit,/ Because you feel out casted./ You don’t belong.

But darling, it’s okay.

That’s just the way life is.

People come and people go./ You are wonderful./ Imperfect, yes, but nonetheless.

You feel like a lone wolf,/ But you’ll find your pack someday./ Not everyone can run beside you./ Not everyone can keep your pace.

If it’s meant to be, maybe they’ll come back.

But baby, don’t waste your time.

Because you are worth much more than they make you feel.

“What’s wrong with me?”

It’s not you, it’s them.

A Blessing for the Broken Souls.

Hello old friend.

I saw you walk through the door, but it was only when I saw you walking towards me that I really recognized you.

And I will tell you now that I was elated; I wasn’t feeling too well this morning, and the sight of a familiar face gave me a reason to smile.

It damn near seems like you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth. Every once in a while, I’ll see your tweets pop up on my feed, but your Instagram pictures are close to none.

As you neared my pew, I wondered why you decided to distance yourself.

Then you sat down next to me, and I knew why.

You gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek and when we broke away, I could see how tired you were. The lines on your face were more prominent; you had aged since I last saw you about 8 months ago. You aren’t even a year older than me, but I looked at you and saw a worn-out old man.

You asked me how I was and I said, “Good,” with a shake in my voice. I asked you the same and you replied with but a sad smile, whispering, “Okay.”

We didn’t speak much after that, and it was in that very moment that I found it extremely difficult to hold back tears. I had I turn away to wipe them from my eyes, but I knew my heart was breaking for you.

Your eyes were sallow, wandering off into the distance with some strange thoughts.
You didn’t joke around with me like you used to so many years ago.
The tone-deaf boy I once knew to never be afraid of shouting out praise, even though singing was not his forte, did not open his mouth once for a song.
He did not even open his mouth for a smile.

Maybe it was pure coincidence that you decided to wear a black shirt and dark jeans, but I could sense the lack of life in your countenance.

But that was months ago.

And you still seem to be away from the keyboard, but last I saw you, you were happier. So I hope that one day in church was but a simple slip in the road, and you’ve picked yourself up. Last I saw you, you looked better, stronger.

And that’s all I could want for my friend.

Because last I saw you, I could argue I was feeling the same. And in what, 4, 5 months time? I’ve realized how blessed I am and how much sadness should not weigh me down.

I am not perfect. You are not perfect. This is for certain. So I only hope what this new year holds will be the best we can grab.

So cheers to the broken souls that dance anyway. Happy 2015.