Luckily Unlucky

*This work is based off of an assignment I had. I took a more creative approach and ended up getting a bit carried away.

Spontaneity: the gloves were black,

Unlike the Ali fight, two three two six,

Success isn’t a familiar,

Red doesn’t blend too well with black.

There was something beautiful about a sport fixated around pain and pleasure. The pain of loss and quite literal physical pain, and the pleasure of causing pain and winning because of superiority, whether it be in violence or the ability to persevere through violence. Sure, it can be classified as chaotic, but never idiotic— a fighter is only stupid if they can’t win the fight they picked.

He goes boxing on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays for a total of at least 8 hours each week. He has no particular reason as to why he does, but someone once told him that he should stay active to keep his mind off of things, and so he did. Philip can’t remember why he went to that person in the first place, but it probably had to do with the fact that everyone else around him said “Philip has issues, and should get it checked out.” He doesn’t really like fighting, but he does enjoy the calm that comes after a session with his trainer. However, Philip felt that doing something without an inherent goal seems useless, and so he decided that one day, he will get into the ring for a proper fight then decide from there whether or not he wishes to pursue boxing. He doesn’t believe in hobbies.

The boxing gym is a twenty minute train ride, while to the train itself is a twenty minute walk. Breathe, two five one three.

Companionship: unnecessary.

But perhaps, my lack of need

Is just proof of depravation,

I think about it, but pretend

That I didn’t.

On his way to the gym, he passes by several people. The first was (from what he could guess) a queer man with their boyfriend. They were eating crudely shaped phallic shaped candy’s and seemed to be deeply enjoying each other’s company. Dressed brightly without a pore on their faces, one was especially more loud in nature (both style and speech) than the other. Phillip didn’t have any hatred or inherently homophobic ideals, but something about the pair bothered him. Perhaps it’s how comfortable they looked, as if they owned the sidewalk and might as well been kings of the city. The closer they got, the clearer the t-shirt the quieter one wore was.

GAY

PRIDE

Pride: he wasn’t sure

If it’s his vision

In the dark,

But for some reason

The words looked hazy,

Like it wasn’t even there.

Phillip had lost track of the months and was more concerned with living to realise it was June in New York. No wonder the air felt considerably more wet and heavy than usual. For some reason, he was holding his breath when the couple passed by him. It happened in an instance, but felt like forever until he accidentally bumped into the pair, slightly by the shoulders of the quiet one. The two looked no older than twenty, probably college students. Phillip was supposed to go to college, but he didn’t end up going because he simply didn’t feel like it. Well, that’s what he tells himself, so he can look at his mother with pride and not bitterness.

It wasn’t a strong bump, not the kind that had any incentives behind it but really just the slightest brush of the shoulders. He could feel his grey cotton jacket rub against the rough denim jacket that the Quiet one wore. Immediately, it was almost like Phillip had committed a hate crime and became Public Enemy Number One. There was no exchange of words, yet both Caucasian males shrivelled their faces with scorn until they were almost unrecognisable to Phillip anymore. No longer lovers frolicking, but rather warriors engaged in a battle that was always theirs to win. Suddenly, Phillip felt more aware of his skin tone and the associations there are with people of his color. Maybe it was the way he dressed? He was going to the gym, so of course he wasn’t in his best outfit but he didn’t think he looked that rude… Or did Phillip just look homophobic? Perhaps the way his eyes slanted upwards and how his nose was angled— or did Phillip mess up when he didn’t smile at them? He isn’t homophobic, I’m not, he isn’t. I’m not… But how could he explain himself? It was a menial moment in time, in the City that Never Sleeps, where minutes should be seconds and days are just a few hours. He’d look crazy for relentlessly apologising and over-explaining how he loves love and that he had nothing against them, just that he didn’t know what it’s like to be them. But they also didn’t know what it’s like to be Phillip. Should he be mad? But both parties look prejudiced to one another, so who exactly is at fault? Nobody wants to take the blame or the time to possibly argue and so they all just kept on going their own way. Those two looked happy together, he thinks to himself.

I’m tired. Three, six, one, one, slip, two. I’m so tired.

Longevity: unlikable.

Jade grows its monetary value,

With age

But skin doesn’t.

The skies were a funny shade of grey. There was a tinge of cornflower blue (Phillip only knows this shade from his days in art) and speckles of orange from the light pollution. They say the skies reflect your mood, but Phillip didn’t feel any particular way so perhaps thats why the skies didn’t seem any particular way other than just… There. En route to his boxing gym, he passed by Bryant Park. It’s always lit and somewhat has somebody there, but he never paid too much attention to them since there’s never really any interaction. This would be a much different story if he had to go through Union Square Park, but he avoids that park. Purposefully because he knows that people are can be a hassle and Union Square Park is defined by the people. He walked through the park, looking at the trees that surrounded him and whatnot, since there wasn’t really much else he could look at other than just that. He passed by the William Cullen Bryant memorial a few moments ago, and couldn’t help but to feel a sense of pride of sorts that he prefers Bryant Park over any of the others. Phillip wasn’t too sure if William had any slaves, but he did know that William was for the abolition of slavery and protected most minorities. William was also a poet, and thats an art that Phillip himself doesn’t understand too well, but respects enough to know that this William guy sounds fairly likeable and perhaps, someone Phillip would like to be friends with. Well, if William Cullen Bryant wasn’t dead that is. But instead, here is a whole park named after him, but who knows if Mr. Bryant himself in his death feels any association with the park. If he did, he probably didn’t like the amounts of pigeon shit that falls on the park grounds.

The skating rink is closed, but Phillip couldn’t help but to wonder how long it’s been there for. Bryant Park was created in 1847, long before Phillip’s time, but on his stroll, he couldn’t help but to wonder if the park ever felt sad and lonely. It must have seen so many faces come and go, so many buildings wear out and so many pieces of nature around it die (who knows if those plants could’ve even been friends with the park.) The only thing that kept Bryant Park there could very much just be the fact that it’s Bryant Park— a famous park that knows no more than just being a famous park. Of course, parks don’t have thoughts like people do, but Phillip found his mind wandering and quietly imagined if he was the park itself. He’d want to die probably. There’s something beautifully painful about being a landscape. You’re here forever, yet can never rest until someone forces you to through demolition. He shuffles his feet against some litter, and decided that he would hate to be a landscape because he would feel no sense of self other than what other’s have already decided for him. Thankfully, he’s just a man. Then again, maybe being a mindless park with no purpose— other than to please— might just be better than a man who can no longer find meaning.

Death: scary

I want to live,

But I want to die,

Thoughts that murmur through the wind

A thin line,

But there is in fact,

Bravery in both.

This walk felt longer than than the other ones he’s had. He’s been down his path so many times, yet it never felt this painstakingly long. Maybe it’s because he has a fight coming up, and so it’s the nerves of the fight that’s making him mentally elongate the stroll to be more than what it should be, he tries to reason to himself. Phillip, on an uncharacteristically spontaneous whim, decided to take a shortcut through some buildings and alleys to reach his destination more quickly so he wouldn’t have to deal with these tediously useless thoughts. To his surprise and joy, a stray dog came to him. What in the world is a stray doing here, he mutters to himself, as if the dog could answer his questions. In the twenty four years of Phillip’s life, he had never came across a stray dog in Manhattan, so the dog seemed almost like both a sign from above and below. He had always loved dogs, ever since he was a child. His family could at least afford a dog during his high school years, but Lucky ran away when Phillip was seventeen, and he isn’t too sure why Lucky did that since a dog had no business in the streets alone. He bent down to allow the dog to familiarise itself with his scent before he began to lovingly pet the dog. Dog had no reason to deserve Phillip’s affections so easily like this, but it’s a Dog, and Phillip loves dogs. Although not every dog is Lucky, this Dog reminded Phillip of Lucky and so he was extra affectionate with Dog. Dogs understand hardship and emotions, but they do not feel anything too complex outside of the inherent need to survive. When in a household, dogs just take and do their best to give back in loyalty and love, but that doesn’t pay the bills— the thought is nice though. In many ways, Phillip is a dog too— although he questions whether or not his will to live is as ferocious as the malnourished animal in front of him. He once read a story online about a dog in Japan, called Hachiko. Hachiko was raised by a professor and loved very dearly. Everyday, Hachiko sends the professor to work at the train station and at the right time, go back to the train tracks to wait for his owner to come back from work. One day, the professor died at the university and never came home. Hachiko did not know of course, and so he would still go to the train station everyday for an owner that would never return. After nine years, nine months and fifteen days, Hachiko was found dead in the streets of Shibuya with wooden skewers in his stomach and terminal cancer. Phillip watched the movie about the dog and cried during the ending credits. If Hachiko had known his owner would never return, would he have stayed? Phillip had also read an article regarding cats— there was a cat that was so socially and emotionally deprived that it committed suicide by quite literally killing itself. He couldn’t help but wonder if these animals knew the meanings and process of death. They live lives to survive, so when they can’t, they just die. Phillip laughs, as he stood up and left the dog to continue its attempts towards surviving. Luckily, he thinks to himself, I’m not a dog. But if I was, I’d like to be one of those dogs that get pampered everyday and showered with love. But one day at the vet, when I’m done with what I have, I’ll speak English and tell the vet I’d like to be euthanised and there’s nothing my owners can do about that, now is there? Ha.

Mothers: Do not know their power,

Of course they know love,

But they do not know how much

Pain,

Pride,

And meaning

They are capable of giving and

taking.

As any other son should, Phillip loves his mother. Perhaps more than the whole world, life and death. After the gruesome training in the boxing gym, just before Phillip reached the comfort of his dim lit apartment, he received a call from his sister, Jennifer. Jennifer and Phillip are very different. She’s far more independent than him, despite being the younger sibling. During their youth, Jenny would always play with the neighbourhood children and was often invited to birthday parties, whereas Phillip preferred to stay home with his immigrant mother and watch her knit. When his parents had Jenny, they were also more driven to fund her dreams, as they were more capable at that point to support her. He thinks that, but he knows it’s because she wanted to go to trade school rather than an arts school. Every week it’s the same routine. Go to boxing, come back from boxing, almost reach the entrance of his apartment, pick up the phone from his sister, get reminded that his mother misses him. Maybe it happened so many times, that the calls don’t hurt as much as the first few times did. In psychology, it’s called habituation. The question he finds himself circling around when he’s in bed staring at the off white ceiling of his bedroom is: Why Do I Live in a Routine? He broke the routine today, but the outcome is still the same because it wasn’t anything but a small change. What would be a big enough change to break the routine? Does he even want to break it? Can he afford to break it?

His mother is in a retirement home. His father is dead. Phillip’s mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and it didn’t bother him too much because he doesn’t mind her forgetting things. What he did mind, was that she remembers him. She clings desperately onto her firstborn son, her biggest success and failure. He visited her in the beginning, of course, but his mother’s behaviour towards him alternated based off of what she could remember and couldn’t. Some days, she remembers that her son didn’t go to college because of his poor choice of a career and tries to throw chairs at him saying that he has her son’s face, but isn’t the son she wanted him to be. She’d fall to her knees and cry about how he failed her, but how she also failed him. Other days, she remembers the nights he was a toddler and would sleep in her bed, when the lightening was his biggest fear and when Phillip was her greatest pride. He prefers the good days, because she would ask him to come closer and hold him by her chest, caressing his head and reminding him that he is her greatest treasure. The proximity she forced between the two made it feel like they were one entity, instead of two. There are few things Phillip can say he loves, but his greatest love is hearing his mother explain the difficulties of his birth and the miraculous light he will always bring to her life. When she tells that story, her eyes become glossy with pride and he’d purposefully ask for more details of the story so he can elongate the feeling of importance for the both of them. At the end of the meetings, he’d bring a pack of Chinese teas to drink with his mother because then she doesn’t say anything and the atmosphere is as calm as the tea sitting in the mug. They could just, exist. And then, he could just leave. He stopped going though, because he couldn’t handle the unpredictabilities and would just rather not deal with dancing between passion and depression. When he hung up the phone, he entered his home and hopes his mother will peacefully die soon. It probably isn’t easy to live for her. On his bed, he takes some melatonin to go to sleep. Yesterday, out of boredom, he searched online if you could overdose on melatonin. According to WebMD, you can’t. You can, however, overdose on Tylenol and if you’re luckily unlucky, die.

Five, one, two, one, one, three, fuck.

If I can’t win, whats the point in this anymore—?

DESPITE PHILLIP LEE’S STRONG FOOTWORK AND DODGING IN THE FIRST TWO ROUNDS, HE’S BEEN KNOCKED OUT COLD!

COMMENTATOR: Honestly, if he had just paced things out he wouldn’t have lost. What a shame. He normally doesn’t fight with this much aggression and at this speed… His trainers were shocked by his loss as well, since this fight was extremely out of character for him. In the last round, it looked like he gave up. I think if Phillip was in a better mindset, this could’ve been an easy win. I haven’t seen Phillip fight enough nor know him too well, but this fight is really just a shame. Well, Bryce handled him very well, it’s not a surprise to me that this fight is Bryan’s victory.

THE WINNER IS…… BY ACCUMULATED POINTS AND OVERALL PERFORMANCE

BRYCE WILLIAMS!

He opens the medicine cupboard above the sink in his apartment. The bruises on his body were causing an excruciatingly amount of pain that made him feel far too human than what he’s comfortable with.

When was the last time I bought Tylenol?

He has lost, again. Tomorrow, Phillip will buy some Tylenol to sooth his pain and see if he can be luckily unlucky. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll feel better— whatever the outcome is.