The Sh*t That Happens . . . Again and Again

I have lost count on how many times I have shitty moments in my life.

Those who can probably count those moments in one hand are the fortunate ones. I am green or purple (a color that results from high blood pressure and inability to breathe well)  with envy. Then, I would look like to high heavens and have an internal dialogue pretending that I am talking to God with a virtual shaking fist of fury added to the mix of lamentations. “Why me?!”

I sometimes feel like the world is snickering while conspiring against me with every unfortunate event that comes my way. But I shall endure! (with another virtual shaking fist to high heavens)

Shit happens whether we like it or not. It’s what we do afterwards that matters.

From small shitty moments to larger ones, I always make sure that I get a lesson out of it. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. A lesson is a lesson. If life throws you lemons, make a lemon vodka cocktail, BBM your friends and party. Right?

Yes. Once again, the ever audacious Rose strikes to turn a glum moment into one full of hilarity and drunken snapshots that will more or less end up in Facebook, Instagram or Twitter.

But that’s the reality of life. If you remain marinating in your own funk, you’ll end up pruny and bitter sooner or later. And I am painting a very disturbing picture of myself all wrinkly with a perpetual frown on my gaunt face, sitting on a rocking chair while cursing every show my gnarled fingers presses on the TV remote control.

For shame! I digress again!

Anyway, life is what you make of it. It can’t be perfect. You can’t have all the sparklies like Paris Hilton, but you can make yourself shine by being victorious in every mishap you encounter.

It’s better to be remembered as the girl who knows how to live life to the fullest without getting the hurdles of life take the better of her – which will be spoken in a eulogy given by a close friend wearing a god-awful black dress that she doesn’t have a choice but to wear because it’s serviceable –  than the girl who just existed and never really lived.


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