50 slides projection
The previous night passed, feverishly, in a hospital room. The poison that throbbed and seized within my head led me to request a dose of sedatives. I allowed time to amble and escort the medication to where it could work its magic. My eyes no longer responded to the cheap neon lights installed within the room, but it seemed my ears had become extra perceptive to sounds that I could not open my eyes to see. Conversations, faded in sound but dense with emotions; of love, memories, sadness, happiness, illness, life, and death; mundane matters in our lives. Why, at this time, did they seem so beautiful and lyrical? Then the conversations either ended or my consciousness gave way, and the only thing that remained was a deep dark void.
I was awoken by the request to open my mouth for a thermometer, whose numbers revealed that the fever had substantially diminished. The doctor asked to peer into my throat before telling me that signs of the immense battle that had commenced two days ago had dwindled down. He continued to tell me how fortunate I was that I might not have to celebrate New Year’s alone in this room. I, on the other hand, would have preferred a place where there were people asking me to open my mouth every four hours, whereas mealtimes at home were the only occasion for it to come alive.
I visualized the scars that had resulted from the massive reproduction of viruses inside my throat. Perhaps it was as splendid as the erection of a brand new metropolis, tree rings that bloomed and blossomed within the largest tree trunks, or like an image of someone that was slowly emerging from the mysterious folds of memory.
Chiang Mai Rama Hospital
29 December 2009