His vision blurred. He had donated blood before - years ago, during a drive in school - and it had not felt this debilitating. This, this disorientation. His mild nausea had erupted, and everything faded into whiteness.
"Have you had your meals?"
Shit, he was so busy mixing chemicals that he had skipped his lunch.
"Did you drink a lot of water?"
Come to think of it, he was desperately thirsty. 2 hours of lecture and 4 hours of lab, back-to-back, gave little chance to top up his bottle.
And, he was on the brink of exhaustion. What with a morning jog and a fitful night's rest. What with the draining academia.
Strangely, he had not felt tired prior to the blood donation. Only when he was reclining on the portable beach chair did he feel so pleasantly languorous. After a few minutes, the laziness was replaced by a dull fear that the world had disappeared. A world of pure whiteness where Newtonian gravity had no influence.
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He had walked into the hall alone, with an inflaming sense of loneliness. It seemed that he was frequently lonely nowadays.
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370 ml, out of the average 450 ml.
Not bad, around 80%, still an A. Comforted himself while he was on his way to find food.
Just comforting myself.
Still feeling wretched, as though I didn't measure up.
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In JC, he had donated blood by himself too. Then, he was fascinated with the rhythmic flow of liquid rust. Every clench of his right fist around a heart-shaped soft toy released a squirt of blood. There was something surreal, then, about this virginal experience.
Then, he had felt big, encompassing; a tower of courage and goodness, with a flutter of fear-laced excitement. Now, he felt small. An awareness that this was right, yet an undefinable dread.
Somewhere, somehow, he had lost the idea of who he was.
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Over dinner, his stomach was clenching painfully. Is this how menstruation feels like? This hurts to high heavens. Thanks goodness, I'm not a girl. Argh.
Almost ten hours of poor sustenance; insufficient food and water. 6 hours of disrupted rest followed by a draining jog around the estate. It was a wonder he was still alive and kicking.
He felt as though some giant had swallowed him, found his stringy hide too tough for comfort and vomited him out again. It had been months since he felt so wretched. His tummy had cried for food, yet the sudden Fillet-O-Fish was too much for it.
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He is lucky in ways that matter. All he has to do is to keep it in mind.
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