You're So Full of Shit

I've been cynical lately. Maybe its a side effect of the post-surgical meds I'm on. Maybe I've been hampered by negative influences. Heck, maybe I should be cynical. So much shit has been going on lately.

So there. I'm going to talk about shit.

Literally.

Have you ever been constipated? It sucks. Its like having a destiny that you just can't fulfill. You feel unfulfilled. You go to the toilet, try and try, but you don't reach your goal. You end up having to exit disappointed because your colleagues have formed a line outside the toilet. And the weight of your unfulfilled destiny sits with you all the while you type out that email, as you draft that report, all through a discussion with your boss, your thoughts keep turning back to that job left undone.

But not for lack of trying. Oh, no.

I've never pushed for anything so hard in my life. Through blood, sweat and tears, I strained against the heavy presence in my gut.

Did I say blood?

I find myself shuffling in front of the registration cum dispensary counter trying to decide whether or not to see the doctor on duty. Why am I so hesitant? Because its a male doctor. But I must overcome this challenge in order to fulfill my destiny. I furtively ask the nurse if a consultation for constipation will require a rectal examination. She smiles understandingly. No, in fact. I sigh audibly and wait for my turn.

I flip through beauty magazines without really seeing them. In light of my destiny, beauty and love seem like such trivial endeavors. I gladly fling the one I'm holding back to the magazine laden coffee table as my name flashes red on the overhanging screen. I enter the consultation room to meet the man who will help me fulfill my destiny.

The first thing I noticed about him was how young he was. His abdomen bulged slightly, possibly from too-long working hours and the too-good nasi lemak that can be found at the cafe next door. He smiled at me and gestured at the seat beside his desk. As I lowered my destiny-laden romp to the cushioned seat he asked me in a deep husky voice and perfectly accented English, "So, what seems to be bothering you?"

I do the mental equivalent of a facepalm. Why must he have good English? My weak point. And now I must describe my predicament to a man I find attractive.

"I have constipation," I said. To hell with everything. I must fulfill my destiny.

"Oh?" he says, not a hint of judgement in his eyes.

I describe my journey -- the blood I have shed, the heavy burden I bear....

"I feel I have to go -- its right there -- but I just can't seem to get it out!" I finish in anguish.

Who knew I would be so passionate about shit?

The doctor nods his head and starts clicking on his desktop. He tells me not to worry, that I should drink lots of fluids and eat lots of fruits and vegetables. All this I know already but I nod my head repeatedly and thank him as I leave.

My name flashes on the big screen again and I stand before the nurse cum receptionist again as she writes out little details on sticky labels and slaps them on some bottles. We spend a few minutes to gripe over the pain and suffering I must go through -- a journey she apparently has gone through as well. I feel reassured at the fact that she has survived this journey. I feel more hopeful for myself, less lost.

She hands me a plastic bag, reciting instructions -- the keys to my destiny. I look her in the eyes, smiling, and for a moment we bond as two travelers on this rough road called life. Then I turn and head home, hoping to fulfill my own destiny.

Shit is important, too, you know?

Lesson learned.