Apologue #23: Sick Days

I generally try to keep a “healthy as a horse” physique but today was just an unbearably painful day where I actually had to leave work after just a mere hour and found myself sleeping for half the day in the soft, warm comfort that is not a boyfriend’s arms but my beautiful queen-sized bed. I’ve been having these excruciating lower back pains for the past two days and I’m upset at the fact that I have no idea why I would have these problems in the first place. It’s not like I’m an Olympic figure rink skater or I do heavy lifting to dumbbells, so this is just going to pass as one of those mysteries that happens in the story of my life.

After my three hour slumber of blissful sleep and reading in bed, a small memory crept up on me that I had missed dearly. You see, I’m not the sickly type but I always do manage myself to get into a big mess of a flu every winter. I would always get sick right before winter finals in college and had such rough days pulling all-nighters and managing to score well on my exams. I usually like to be alone but I had a boyfriend in my younger days that would never, and I mean NEVER, leave me alone when I was even the teeniest bit sick.

He an only child with both parents always working so he grew up managing sick days by himself since he could remember, and so, he feels that when one’s sick, you should always have company because no one intentionally wants to be “alone” because that’s when you’re the most miserable and loneliest (plus you may need help getting more tissues).

He was the type that would cook me not chicken noodle soup but porridge from scratch. I don’t know many people that can actually do that; let alone, men. He made a mean cinnamon rice porridge and it was worth getting sick just to have a spoonful of it. After feeding me porridge and making sure I took all my medication, sometimes he would read me Harry Potter (and I am OBSESSED with Harry Potter) as I fall asleep. Other times he used to tell me stories about Roman mythologies. He was quite a storyteller. I read Edith Hamilton’s Mythology twice and so I fairly enjoy hearing anything about them. I don’t know how many times he’s read it but he was able to pretty much reenact the story to life; his versions of these tales were priceless.

So, sitting in bed and reading my book by myself, it made me realize just how right he was. Being alone when you’re sick really is miserable and you crave not attention but good company. It surely isn’t him that I miss but his stories and his effort in trying to make me feel better that I dearly miss and wish I had today.

I guess it’s fair time that I should find my own recipe for cinnamon rice porridge as I get back to my Mythology.

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