Thirty five is when you finally get your head together and your body is falling apart.
- Caryn Leschen, USA
As I sit here on a quiet, humidly lazy mid-morning, nothing quite reminds me of my mortality than the snoozing of my dogs (I read that they can sleep up to 13 hours a day) and the dull, but consistent hammering of the kitchen knife from the neighbour's place below... I thought chicken is nice for lunch, but poor chook.
One of the rare treats that I had last night was watching this obstacle course show aptly titled "wipeout" and I had never laughed so much in one sitting for a long time, since a while ago, and definitely not that hearty. I meant with tears coming down, body convulsing to and fro, abs crunching in pain, the soul flying free.
And I was also privileged to join the many in one of our country's great "first-in-our-self-invented-"Guinness"-book" feats, watching some model search online, everything via the very screen that you are looking at, without a touch on the television's remote controller. The show was dumb, about dumb girls, with dumb lines, with even dumber audiences that don't clap, and what did that make me - a dumb viewer? Anyway, topic for another Friday but the point was that each of these girls were asked which was their most favourite body part?
I went: As I am sure after all that Darwinistic theory on evolution and the selection of the fittest, finest, most fantastic of our species, we have come to this: the definition of the other half of Homo Sapien by one body part, no - your most favourite body part.
What were the responses?
Giggles. Sniffles. Shifting on the standing spot. Twirling of the hair. More twirling. Judges with hard stares (swore that one tried to be another Simon Cowell).
"My smile"
"My eyes"
Judges: "Why?"
"Because everyone says so", "They are so big and round", "...", *giggle*, and the list goes on.
I don't know if we should have a "most favourite" body part but perhaps that gives some sort of comfort to some that there is a part that they like amidst the many others that are WIP or just curses from the Devil.
To have almost gone blind nine years ago, I am thankful that I have my sight. To love those dogs so much that I love running with them, I am thankful for my legs. I did look down unconsciously while I waited for the lift during one of those runs, and saw those strong muscles that built up the structure that I rely for granted to stand, run, jump, walk, travel, get up, lie down, kick and fight for my square of the blanket real estate in the bed, to power up a run into the sea before I sprint off in a dive... yeah, I don't have a most favourite, I do admire my back, I have many lovely comments on my tush, I think I got small almond eyes that my mum reminded me of the phoenix legend, I have hair that sits nicely when it doesn't get humid, I have one arm that allows me to haul a bag of 10kg rice and three bags of grocery on the other arm, I can hug, I can drive.
So I think, in a few more years to come, the challenge is not about the look from your most favourite part. You just want everything to work, to be well-oiled, to propel you forward still, to the point where we all call it a day.
And that my mates, you want to call it a day done well.
