Not Even A Tick

It was sunrise, and the sun was about to scorch the field with its sizzling heat. I was lying in my bed looking at the bare ceiling over my head, attached a two-winged fan with massive dirt all over it. Not a three-winged ceiling fan anymore because I accidentally broke it when I cleaned it with a broom, and it got stuck in the fan, which causes my fall bringing with me one of the wings. My mom used to remind me that it is called blades, but I refuse her term and called it wings because it sounds good to my ears when I say it, and also it sounds hopeful to me.

After that little memory, I was just observing how the fan spins and feeling the amount of air it gave me. I did not think of anything but merely watching the ceiling fan as its sounds oozes something in my ear. It seemed like it whispers something, however, I did negate my interest in it. I diverted my attention by looking at the walls where I dangled the picture of my favorite singer, Avril Lavigne, beside the window, near my table, where I spent most of my time studying. By the side of Avril Lavigne's portrait are the walls that were stained, scratched, carved, and marked with diverse drawings, patterns, and colors. All of those colorations and masterpieces were handcrafted by my own little brother, Owen, a seven-year-old sweet boy who was obsessively fascinated with hues, designs, and shapes.

I can recall a memory of him visiting my room. He always gives a visit whenever he wants to showcase his artistic self to me.

He entered the room, wearing his infectious smile and charming glinting eyes, saying;

 “Hello, my beautiful big sister. Let me pay you a visit.” 

I always give him a laugh whenever he throws those lines. It sounds hilarious to me having a visit from my own little brother who happened to live under the same roof as me.

“I know why you are here. You’ll practice your Picasso-self on my walls again and think that my wall is your canvas, am I right? Or you are just visiting me?’ I replied.

He gave me a moment of silence wondering what his answer would be.

“Hmmm….. Actually… It’s kinda both.” 

“Yeahhh. I knew it. Now, you deserve a tickle from me.” 

I am often full of laughter whenever he is around. It brightens my day, not to mention he brightens my walls too by putting colors all over them. He can't create arts in his room because my parents already covered the walls with an alphabet and educational posters. But whenever he tours my room, these are the best little moments that I’ll always treasure for a lifetime.

We have shared countless laughter together. We are both medicines to each other. When something is wrong he always comes to me and asks for help, which is mostly about school stuff, and sometimes his girl crushes in the school. I go to him whenever I feel lonely and sad because his smile is already a medicine to me. He made everything lighter and easier to stomach. He was like the warden of my vulnerability that offers booze of happiness when I am in a state of loneliness.

One time, I cried immensely in my room because I failed in the scholarship that I applied for. I tried to cry silently to avoid being heard by my parents, but Owen heard me and knocked on my door. He called me in a gentle kiddy voice:

“Big sister, can you please open the door? I heard your nose running back and forth and I know that it comes with that colorless water that comes out in the nose whenever someone is crying. Can you please let me in, big sister? 

Hearing that little voice calmed me drastically, and I laughed with his term ‘colorless water that comes out in the nose'. I opened the door, wiping and choking all my tears back to its duct. He hugged me tightly with his hands around my waist and head on my stomach. I expected him to ask what happened to me, the reason why I am crying, but I was surprisingly stunned by his words.

“Big sister, I don’t want to ask why you are crying but always remember that Ow-Ow is here for you all the time. I know that tears are painful because I experience it when Mama did not buy me the toy I saw in the market. But did you know what I did, Big sister?”

“I don’t know.”

“I asked Dad to buy me one, and he did.” 

"And, don't forget to embrace Mama's daily mantra that she often uses when she is about to explode with anger and sadness. Do you remember that?" he proceeded.

"Pause. Breathe. Recover and Reimagine. All things happen for a reason and all is granted at the right time." I exclaimed.

At that simple moment, I was speechless. That innocent perspective replenishes my soul in an instant, recovering from a high slope to downhill. It's like the blank canvas of my life at that moment was painted with vibrant hues fondled by brushes in a harmonious, graceful stroke.

I used to call him, Ow-ow, because he loved dogs, and it just happened that his name is closer to the sound of a dog so I gave him Ow-ow for a nickname. It is just that I could never deny the fact that Owen, a merely seven-year-old kid, constantly giving me simple lessons and realizations in life that whenever one opportunity failed to grant your wish, why not give it a try to another because it might work too and it might be worth it. Another thing he gave me with that simple moment was, it is okay to grieve on something but to always remember that there’s a second try or another one to attempt for another opportunity.

For a moment, my stomach called and growled for a meal. As I was about to get up, I noticed that it’s getting dark, and I lost track of time. It was sunrise when I looked at the ceiling, and now it is sundown, and I am looking at the walls crafted by Owen.

Time has really no significant purpose for me anymore because I think all the days similar and endless after Ow-ow and my parents died in a car accident, drifted by a 10-wheeler truck in a great impact of a collision having no time to arrive in the hospital. No time for survival. No time for a revival. No time for a second chance.

Loss of consciousness.

Loss of heartbeat.

Loss of breathing.

Loss of hope.

Loss of life.

All of it was snatched in a snippet of time and in a blink of an eye. The longing I felt for my brother and my family is endless, and it seems like it never ends. I could stare at the walls or in the ceiling without blinking. I could finish the day without giving myself breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or even a snack. I could just be a nobody who has nobody to talk to. I could forget all the time in the world and think not even a tick of it. I could lie in my bed with no thoughts at all, waiting and thinking of nothing. Empty, null, blank, and hollow just like my home. Now, it is merely a structure - a building and a hunk of concrete.

Unoccupied.

When someone important, not just important but your life, has left unexpectedly with no space for goodbyes and farewell can be the most depressing moment you'll ever experience. When these things happen, all the materials things in the world or even the time do not matter anymore. You are blinded with everything unclear and dark but a reoccurring memory of them playing on repeat in your mind. I can't really bear all the chaotic emotions roaming around my body and running nowhere in my veins. My walls become stagnant now. It was the same picture when Owen last visited me.

I thought for a moment and wonder what did he draw from his last visit. It could be anything since he was just a child who simply wants to make things messy. But I was intrigued. I quickly got up and looked at his drawing. I thought that it was a drawing, but it was not. I was left shocked with my feet grounded on the floor -shaking. Because I never considered that it could be a quote, more like a sign of farewell.

And it quoted:

"When you feel sad, just do what you love, and think nothing of time. Maybe, you only have today to make your own art."

I was static for the whole time and cried intensely. I stayed all night leaning on the walls where Owen carved his last message to me.

However, Owen’s love and simple lessons let sunlight enter my room and gave me a timeless treasure to hold on to and that I could bear at heart forever. Sadness, sometimes, in the moment of grieving and mourning, is truly the most endless moment of my life.