Here’s a funny little story.
I bought one souvenir during my trip to Ilocos. ONE souvenir. Among the dozens of shirts, woven wallets, and sun hats, I bought this white windmill. It’s really just a miniature of the Bangui Windmills.
A couple of months ago, tragedy struck. Coincidentally, there was day during that time when the huge stack of books in my room suddenly fell down, taking the windmill along with it.
When I finally recovered the windmill from the rubble (of books), one of the blades had broken off. I suppose at that time, I considered this as another bad omen, another thing that’s wrong. The symbol of my wonderful trip to Ilocos was broken, never to rotate again. What a metaphor for life.
I didn’t throw the blade away, I just left it alone. After a few weeks, I suddenly had a notion to just stick the blade where it was supposed to be (what the heck, right?). Luckily, the blade stayed on the turbine without any kind of adhesive.
I kept forgetting to buy glue or something, but a couple of days later, I turned on a fan and the windmill began to rotate. And rotate. And rotate. Really fast.
The blade never fell off! Until now, the windmill rotates every time I turn on the fan, and still without adhesive!
I know this is a little eetie-beetie thing. But I hope it means something. I don’t know, maybe hope? Or maybe when life seems so utterly dismal, there just might be a chance that it will run again, one way or another.
I really have no idea, but my spirits lift a little whenever I see the windmill turning.