I can hear the ticking of the clock in my tiny cabin on the ship. And when the night brings the eerie quiet to the bustle on board, the ticking, it seems, gains deafening proportions. The gentle hum of the engine, overshadowed by the violent tick of the tiny clock. I wonder why they call this narrow needle, that seems to be the root of all this ruckus, the seconds’ hand. Perhaps it too came “shy of first” in some race against time? I know I’ve drifted away from that which I had set out to write about. But I guess, such is the way of life, meandering through the valleys to the sea. But let me get back to my numbers.
If you had a favourite number, what would that be? I’m sure there are Ronaldo fans who’d scream 7 while the Messi / Tendulkar fans scream back 10. Well me, my favourite number has always been TWO. The hardest number perhaps. Let me try to explain why. Have you noticed how the saddest person after a race / fight, is the one who comes second. The victor, jubilant over his success and the one that came in third, glad to have made it thus far. The guy that came in second however, is destined to fade away from people’s memories. His suffering and pain amounting to nothing in the end. As hard as this may sound, almost a winner, means nothing in the world we live in.
Perhaps that’s what some of us have been all our lives. Almost a winner. And yet, we nevertheless dust ourself up and walk back to the starting line for another race to the finish, believing in a second chance. A second chance to come first. A second chance to taste the glory that had slipped through our hands. A second chance to prove to ourselves that we’re worthy. A second chance at the life that we were told, is only a dream.
Many of us may fall by the wayside. Many will refuse to even start, giving up before the heart suffers another humiliation. But a few of us persevere, believing in that second chance at a miracle; And I hope I’m one of them. And perhaps this time I’ll find my miracle. Cheers
