Wish Upon a Stroke

The Bridge

The weight of the world pressed down on me, a physical burden as I trudged across the old Jones Bridge. The fading Manila sun cast long, skeletal shadows, painting the crumbling concrete in hues of bruised purple and fiery orange. The city's evening rush hour roared around me – a cacophony of jeepney horns, the insistent buzz of tricycles, the rhythmic thump of countless feet on the pavement. The air hung thick and heavy, a miasma of exhaust fumes and the tantalizing aroma of street food, a stark contrast to the icy dread gripping my heart.

But I barely registered the vibrant chaos. My mind was a relentless, churning storm of anxieties. The looming accounting exam felt like a monstrous, inescapable titan, its shadow stretching across every waking moment. The stack of student loan bills on my desk mocked me silently, a constant, visual reminder of my precarious financial situation. And underlying it all was the deep, gnawing worry about my family's struggles.

"Hay naku, Liezl, focus ka nga," I muttered to myself, pushing a stray strand of hair from my face, the gesture feeling futile against the weight of my worries. "Kaya mo yan. Accounting lang yan, hindi naman end of the world."

But the lie tasted like ash in my mouth. It felt like the end of my world. Failing this exam meant losing my scholarship, the lifeline keeping my family afloat. Papa worked double shifts as an office staff, his shoulders perpetually slumped under the weight of debt. Mama tirelessly took on laundry jobs from our neighbors, her hands rough and calloused from years of hard work. And then there was Elisia, my cousin whose parents lived far away in the province, another mouth to feed, another burden we shouldered willingly.

"Baka bumagsak ako," I whispered, my voice a fragile thread against the city's deafening roar. The thought hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. "Paano na lang kami?" The question echoed in the hollow spaces of my fear.

As I neared the bridge's center, a figure caught my eye. A man, silhouetted against the fiery sunset, perched precariously on the railing, his back to the churning brown water of the Pasig River far below. He swayed slightly, his shoulders slumped in a posture of utter despair, and a cold dread snaked through me.

"Oh my God," I breathed, my own anxieties momentarily eclipsed by a surge of primal concern.I'm not typically one to intervene. Shyness clings to me like a second skin, a suffocating shroud that often leaves me paralyzed in the face of confrontation. The thought of approaching a stranger, let alone someone in such obvious distress, sent a wave of panic washing over me. But something deeper, a fierce instinct for survival perhaps, propelled me forward.

"Kuya, wait!" I called out, my voice trembling, a thin, reedy sound against the city's clamor.He didn't turn, seemingly oblivious to my presence, lost in his own private hell.I quickened my pace, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Kuya, please! Huwag kang tumalon!"

I reached him, my hand outstretched, hesitant and trembling. "Kuya, please, kausapin mo ako. Anong problema?"

He finally turned, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion, etched with the deep lines of sleepless nights and untold sorrows. His eyes were red-rimmed, his clothes rumpled and stained, the picture of a man broken and defeated.

"Miss, umalis ka na," he mumbled, his voice hoarse, a rasping whisper barely audible above the rushing water. "Wala kang magagawa."

"Meron," I insisted, finding a strength I didn't know I possessed. "Kahit ano pa yan, may solusyon. Please, kuya, bumaba ka diyan."

I took another cautious step closer, my hand still outstretched, a lifeline offered in the face of despair. "Hindi mo kailangang gawin 'to. May mga taong nagmamahal sa'yo. May mga taong nangangailangan sa'yo."

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion, surprise, and a flicker of something akin to hope. He seemed to be weighing my words, considering their weight and meaning.I continued, my voice soft but firm, each word imbued with a conviction that surprised even me. "Kuya, isipin mo ang pamilya mo, ang mga kaibigan mo. Isipin mo ang mga pangarap mo. Huwag mong sayangin ang buhay mo."

Tears welled up in his eyes, hot and heavy, a silent testament to the burden he carried. He nodded slowly, his body visibly relaxing, the tension slowly ebbing away. "Tama ka," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "May pamilya ako. May mga pangarap ako."

He looked at the swirling water below, then back at me, his gaze searching, questioning. "Salamat, Miss. Hindi ko alam kung anong gagawin ko kung wala ka."

He reached out, his hand trembling, and I gently helped him climb back over the railing, offering support and a silent promise of safety. I held him close, offering silent comfort as he wept, his body shaking with the release of pent-up emotions.

Within minutes, the wail of sirens cut through the evening air. An ambulance arrived, its flashing lights illuminating the scene, and paramedics rushed to his side. As they led him away, he turned to me one last time, his eyes filled with profound gratitude.

"Salamat," he mouthed, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing his lips.

I nodded, my own eyes brimming with tears, a mixture of relief and awe. I had never felt so useful, so vital, so... powerful. I had saved a life.

As the crowd dispersed, an old woman approached me, her face etched with wisdom and kindness. She had kind eyes that seemed to see right through me and a warm smile that radiated warmth and compassion. In her hands, she held a beautiful, worn leather-bound notebook, its cover adorned with intricate Celtic knotwork.

"Ikaw ba ang babaeng kumausap sa kanya?" she asked, her voice gentle, a soothing balm to my still-racing heart.

I nodded, still shaken by the intensity of the experience, the adrenaline slowly receding."Ang tapang mo, hija," she said, her eyes twinkling with admiration. "Bihira ang mga taong katulad mo."

She handed me the notebook, its aged leather smooth and cool beneath my fingertips. "Tanggapin mo 'to bilang pasasalamat."I hesitated, my instincts urging me to refuse. "Naku, Lola, hindi na po kailangan. Ginawa ko lang po ang dapat."

"Tanggapin mo na," she insisted, her voice firm but gentle. "May espesyal na kapangyarihan ang notebook na 'yan. Matutupad nito ang mga hiling mo."

My eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope stirring within me. "Po?"She smiled, a knowing, enigmatic smile. "Pero tandaan mo, gamitin mo ito nang may katalinuhan. Ikaw lang ang makakapaghiling gamit ang notebook na 'to."

She patted my hand, a gesture of comfort and encouragement. "Mag-iingat ka, hija. At salamat muli."

She turned and melted back into the bustling crowd, leaving me alone on the bridge, the notebook clutched tightly in my hand. I stared at it, my mind reeling, the weight of the evening's events settling upon me like a heavy cloak. Could it be true? Could this worn, leather-bound book truly grant wishes?

I tried to dismiss it as a kind gesture from a witness to a near-tragedy, a whimsical act of kindness in the face of overwhelming despair. But as I walked home, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors, the thought lingered, a persistent whisper in the back of my mind.Later that night, as I sat at my desk, the daunting pile of bills and the looming exam pressing down on me, I couldn't shake the old woman's words. The seed of hope she had planted had taken root, growing steadily in the fertile ground of my desperation.With a mix of skepticism and a desperate clinging to hope, I opened the notebook, its pages crisp and untouched. I hesitated, then with a trembling hand, I scribbled a wish on the first blank page, a simple plea born of fear and exhaustion:

I wish I could ace my accounting exam tomorrow.

Closing the notebook, I felt a strange tingling sensation, a faint electric current running through my body. I shook my head, attributing it to exhaustion and nerves. But as I drifted off to sleep, a tiny, fragile seed of hope bloomed in my heart, a tenacious little flower pushing its way through the hardened soil of my anxieties. The weight of the world still pressed down, but now, a sliver of light pierced through the darkness.