But you're not here to read about the irony that is my name. No, you're here to read about this strange, queer disease that I have. It's called the "Punctualis Syndrome". And it tells me that my name is an irony. Did I mention that it is extremely rare? Till April 5th, there were merely 12 recorded cases of this disease, and it had doctors in a fix. Guess who became the lucky 13th? No points for guessing that there's no cure yet. No points.
I'm not bitter though. I'm not sad , or angry, or depressed, or asking random people why this is happening to me. I'm none of those things.
I know what you're thinking. And no , I'm not shouting at the top of my lungs off a rooftop either. I'm not feeling liberated, or shredding all obligation. And I'm definitely not doing crazy stuff like those people do in those Hollywood movies where the protagonist hasn't gotten long to live. No, this isn't either of those stories.
So, I don't feel bitter, and I don't feel liberated. What do I feel then? Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. It feels like another day to me. Is that normal? I don't think it is. Well, too late to worry about that now.
Well, if I said that I have been feeling nothing since the day I was diagnosed, I'd be a lying you-know-what. The day I was diagnosed with The Syndrome, I felt my whole world crashing about me. I sobbed, and I didn't stop for days. I cut myself off, from friends , from families , because I couldn't bear to be around them and give them any happy memories that may make them tear down later. I was sullen, and that wasn't like me , trust me. I had a lot of dreams , you know. I wanted to be a surgeon. And I wanted to study all the way to my PhD from an Ivy league school. Big plans, I know. So, I had spent a good chunk of my high school concentrating on my grades, extracurriculars and athletics, and took on more than I could chew, promising myself that it would get better. And as you already know by now, it didn't. So yeah, that wasn't a great feeling, and it was hard to contain it. We plan every second of every day of our life, thinking we're in control, but life always has its trump card.
But that was before. Right after I was diagnosed. I have come to peace with my condition since then. Might as well embrace what I have, eh? Oh pardon me, you're probably still in the dark about what the "Punctualis Syndrome" really is. Well, its this disease , you see , which has its etymology from the Latin word for Punctual. Basically, this is one "punctual" disease. Like me, sigh. Its punctual in the sense that it kills its host after exactly 21 days. 21 days since when, you ask? Not much is known about it, but the process usually starts with the appearance of this disgusting , grimy reddish spot with black dots that oozes some disgusting , grimy liquid. I got mine today , on the leg, at the back side of my calf. Its disgusting, but it doesn't pain or anything, and good for me, is hidden to most of the general public. So there you have it, starting today, I have just 21 days to live. Today is Day One, and it feels the same as yesterday. Nothing. Feels like nothing.
Also, The Syndrome was kind enough to acknowledge my neverending love for mysteries. Given that the doctors have only 12 cases to analyse, they aren't really sure what my symptoms are gonna be and when they are gonna happen. Some common symptoms they told me to be aware of are nausea, dizziness, head aches, stomach aches, improper digestion, epelyptic like fits, and delusions. Yeah, delusions. Anything could happen any day, any time.
But whatever the course that the victims of The Syndrome take, the end road is the same. Trouble breathing, choking,chest pains, filling of the bronchi with fluids, and a slow, painful death. So Day 21 is pretty much sorted. But I can't think about that now, I can't think about that ever. Because if I do, I might get afraid, and which might further upset Mum and Dad and my friends. So, here I am , telling you my story like its no big deal. Because if I don't, then I might further damage the lives of those I have already half-destroyed.
Day One's almost over. Nothing eventful happened the entire day. Nothing to tell, except the Herculean amount of people telling me that it's gonna be okay. Just that. To escape those pity looks that accompanied my during most of the dinner, I decide to take an evening walk all alone in the park close to our house. The cool breeze rushing down my spine is a warm welcome. The rustling of tree leaves, and the chirping of crickets, and the moonlight carpet on the lake make me feel normal again. From a dying girl to an independent woman. Not to sound too melodramatic, but it's magical.
And who do we have here? Why, if it's none other than Ashton Rogers walking right towards me. Its cool, we like Ashton Rogers. Well, I like Ashton Rogers. And maybe , he likes me too. Just maybe. Funny story, a week before I was diagnosed with this god-awful disease, I asked Ashton out. He said he wasn't really in the headspace right now, but that he'll definitely think about it. It wasn't a great idea anyway, but now it seems even worse. Here comes Ashton, and by his demeanor I can tell he's done thinking, and I don't think either answer is going to make me feel better.
"Hey Vie!". " Hey Ash, what's going on",I say while looking towards the lake, a lustrous silver. "Nothing, just out for some fresh air. I'm pretty glad I did. Or how else would I have run into Ms. Vivian Ambrose , who seems to be avoiding me for weeks now". " Avoiding you?", I ask, in an almost defensive tone. "No, I haven't been avoiding you. Its just... I had a lot on my plate the last couple of weeks". " Yeah, I totally understand. I was just kidding. And hey, I wouldn't mind if you did avoid me. I mean, sometimes I think I'd avoid me too". I looked into his eyes, those oceany blue ones that have a mischievous spark, spark of a happy person. "Self deprecation doesn't really suit you", I say , fiddling with my fingers. " No?". "Yeah, you're kinda stealing my thunder". " Self depreciation is your thunder?", I could see a sly smile around the corner of his mouth. It was all I could do to not end up smiling myself. "Yeah, didn't you know? Hell, it could even be my street name". And we both laugh nervously at my pathetic joke.
" Hey listen", he begins again. "I have been thinking about what you said... you know ... umm... about a few weeks ago... actually thinking a lot...", he mumbles. " And...?", I interject , heart pounding. Before he could say anything , my phone starts ringing, its my mom's ringtone. She wasn't worried yesterday when I went for my walk, I thought to myself, cursing her timing. I let the call go to voicemail and look back at Ashton , who's still trying to phrase his thoughts. I look at him, and I see this carefree, happy-to-go lucky guy, that I adore, that I like, that I might someday love... And I just can't do it. A part of me wants to know what he says, but I just can't. I can't know what he says, because either answer's gonna kill me. And I don't need that right now. Right now I want to live, and I cannot pull this guy into the abyss in which I'm falling. I cannot drag him with me. "So ... Look I was saying...", and just as he was about to go on, my phone rings again. " I gotta take this, Ashton. Actually I should just go. It's getting late, and my Mom seems to be worried". "Wait, just give me two minutes", he protested. " I'm sorry, I really should go". "Well, atleast let me walk you home", I could sense a desperation in his voice, or maybe that was just my own imagination, just my delusions. " No, its cool. I can go on my own". And before he could get out another word, I walked away , willing myself not to look back. But of course I do, don't I. But when I do, he's already walking the other way.
So that's Day One. Nothing happened. Because this isn't a story in which I feel bitter, or liberated. Just one where a girl hopelessly falls for a boy, that's all what it is. Teenage love.
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