“Lord, I’m thankful for all you have provided.” The sun rises on my prayers and my appreciation for being blessed to see another day. If I ask anything, it’s for the health and happiness of others.
I learned long ago that life is about perspective. My mother always used to say during times of shortage, “The man with no shoes cried, until he saw the man with no feet.” There was little crying in our home. There is even less in my home today. Everyday I find something to celebrate.
I’m thankful for this brick and barbed wire enclosed protection from the elements. It’s hard to complain about the taste of the three meals I’m provided daily when I’m conscious of the millions battling hunger every day.
“Eat to live, don’t live to eat!” Wise words from my mother are always ringing in my heart. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” is her favorite.
I draw water from my toilet/sink combination, grateful for the indoor plumbing and easy access to clean water that many will never know. I add baby shampoo, thoroughly scrubbing down my home. The fresh, innocent scent conjures memories of my toddler splashing and laughing in the tub. I smile at his toothless smile and feel anew the joys of yesteryear.
Yesterday. I scavenged a busted hotpot. I cut off its cord, skinned it, and tied the wire into a long line of tiny knots. I wound one end of the wire around a wet ball of tissue and throw it out of the highest window on the run.
“First try!” my neighbor cheers.
I wrap the other end of the wire around a paperclip a dozen times and jab it into the back of my radio where an antenna would usually go. “Voila!” I now have perfect radio reception. I love the poetic storytelling of country singers. “What’s the use of this ol’ gittar,” I sing along, taking out everything I’ll need.
I crush up the bag of jalapeno chips and add two packs of jack mackerels. Once they are evenly mashed together, I put them in my hotpot to cook. I empty an orange electrolyte into a bag of rice, add hot water, and place that in my roommate’s hotpot. The containers of instant cheese potatoes and refried beans go to the side.
“Now to the good stuff!” I take out two packs of Duplex Cookies, a Snickers Bar, Chick-O-Stick, and two Brown Sugar oatmeal packs.
I segregate the black and white halves, scraping all the crème into a cup to melt it down into icing. I crush the cookies to dust. I soften the oatmeal up with hot water and mix it with the cookie dust, molding the mixtures into two cake layers. The white layer goes on the bottom to be topped by the melted down Snickers Bar. The black layer goes on top to be covered by the icing. The Chick-O-Stick is crushed and sprinkled over the top.
I set the cake to the side to harden into a delicious treat for the tastebuds. Later, when I hear maintenance workers returning to the block, I add water to the potatoes and beans, vigorously stir, and separate them into our large white bowls. I divide the sweet rice and fried fish evenly into the bowls as well, topping them with squeeze cheese and ranch dressing. A row of snack crackers is halved around the edges of both bowls.
“Man! What’s all this?” My cellie’s eyes glow like sapphires as he smiles ear to ear. “This is your birthday feast, Birthday Boy! Haap-pee Birth-Day! Haap-pee! Birth-Day!” I jump into a jazzed-up song that our neighbors join.
Ryan is actually blushing. “Dude, this is love for real. I’ll never forget this, San. Thank you!” He gives me a manly hug that nevertheless elicits “Ahhhs” from the others. “Y’all gonna make me cry,” Lady J sighs a few houses down to more laughter. We pay them no mind. We turn up the tunes and jam out as we devour the feast. We eat two pieces of cake and share the rest with the others.
“Another great day,” I say.
“The best!” Ryan adds.
And so, the sun sets on another day with more laughter than lamentations. We close our eyes with satiated smiles, marinating in the marvelous memories that sustain us, before drifting into the dreams for the future that temper our faith with the fortitude to face another day in a cage that we call home.
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