I'm lying in bed as I write this. I am down with a weird flu that makes me throw up and have serious body aches.
"YOU HAVE H1N1?!" screamed my sister in bewilderment upon hearing my incessant sneezing and hacking on the now infected couch.
Probably not. Even if I did, I'll recover, given my bullish immune system.
I was made to down a RM4 cup of fu cha(translation: bitter tea - literally) yesterday by my ever concerned grandmother. It's to specifically combat "heatiness and flu". I love traditional Chinese medicine in its capability for having remedy to every single ailment known to mankind. They probably even have a cure for AIDS somewhere that the Western World doesn't know about.
In any case, drain water might taste better than fu cha.
Showing posts with label sick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sick. Show all posts
Fever
March 01, 2009 | Published in cold, fever, sick |
I stumble around feebly in an oxygen-deprived haze, wholly incapable of breathing through my nose, slipping in and out of a cold somnambulant state, weaving in and out of perishable dreams where people don't speak to me or know my name and into the stark reality that is my cold, cold dimly lit bedroom. I rue the fact that I was awoken by sunshine and the catastrophic sounds of morning - the scraping of chairs on the floor above, the slamming of doors, the screeches and wailings of the minute toddler across the hall. Why wake me when I want to sleep for a week and remember the trivial details of my senseless dreams that torture me with beautiful and painful memories from a contorted time well of past, present and that of which has never happened to me: a boy who has never uttered more than five words to me in his life, another who has said too much, a wreckage of glass, displaced screams and frozen supermarket trolleys in a blizzard. Then I am falling wayward into a chasm that has broken all laws of the space-time continuum to the rhythm of a hundred and twenty five decibel sound that vaguely resembles the sound that resonates from a cheap drugstore alarm clock. My eyes fly open and I think all the world has ended but in truth I lie only in the cold rank darkness of 3.41AM. Then I am happy amidst a trail of destruction and sorrow, feeling a warm hand on mine that only elicited memories of the warm scent of soap, oil and freshly pressed towels. Then I am amid verdant greenery and flowers and best friends that translate into a sinking peatbog that claws at me with brown fingers. I hold my breath.
Wake up, wake up.
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