The Brighter Side of Things

Chapter 3

I grew up easily contracting viruses, allergies and whatnot. There was never a month that I didn't fall ill. At age five, Ima suggested that I should be brought to an albularyo believing that something supernatural attached itself to me, and was sucking my life force. The herbal doctor said it was because of my name. He suggested that my parents change it or at least give me a new nickname.

I remembered everyone chanting different variations of my Felicity — Fel, Feli, City, Fifi — in front of a glass of water with a raw egg in it. The albularyo said that the egg would determine what I should be called moving forward. Thanks to Kuya Six who was then in first grade and was doing some simple math. He spewed 'Seven' out of nowhere and it made the egg stand on the base of the glass. As a result, they all started calling me that (except when Mama was close to getting mad or frustrated).

Maybe the herbal doctor was right. I eventually outgrew my overly-sickly phase. Or perhaps it was because Papa slowly taught me how to play basketball to improve my stamina. Either way, old sickly me was gone. But the nickname 'Seven' stuck.

Eventually, they all thought the name was apt because I was the seventh member of the family whose name started with an F and which meant "good luck". And since number seven is also associated with luck, they also assumed it would counter my misfortunes.

How I wish it were true though.

Because I may have grown up taller, healthier and more athletic. But the bad luck that I seemed to bring around clung to me like the plague. Like how my skin was tanned for life, I guess, like what Kuya Six always told me, though jokingly, so was my being the bringer of bad luck.

🏀🌞🏀

No one could underestimate my — I think it would be more appropriate to call it a curse, so let's go with that — curse. Especially for the sports teams I cheered for. Most of the time, my mere presence anywhere within the 10 meters from the game or television could spell the definite loss of whatever team I supported.  My brother was a living testimony to it, he could have been a millionaire if he started placing bets the moment he figured out my 'curse'. But he didn't. And I didn't want him to, either.

"You are definitely not a harbinger of bad luck," my best friend, Lexi, reprimanded me after I told her that the Voyagers lost by a measly point against the Comets.

"I so am," I insisted. For the past three years, I watched all the championship games from a safe and increasing distance, but the results were the same. This year, the Voyagers had a huge fighting chance against the defending champions. But I was still too stubborn for my own sake and still went to the area, blowing that opportunity. "How can you explain my track record then? I mean, almost all the teams I'm cheering for lose when I watch their games live!"

Lexi gathered her long hair, twisted and turned it around until it formed a bun on the top of her head. She secured the bun with a plastic spring she always kept on her wrist together with the friendship bracelet I personally made and gave her last Christmas. "Look, you said 'almost', not 'all'. It's not absolute. It's either the teams you're supporting are weak underdogs— "

I glared at her in defiance. "Hey. That's my brother's team you're talking about."

But she just rolled her eyes at me and went on with her speech. "As I was saying, either the teams you're cheering for are weak or they're up against tough teams. But just the same, there's always fifty percent chance to win or lose. It's all about which one wants it more badly." She then gave me a stern stare. "It's certainly not because of good or bad luck. Certainly not because you are watching."

"But‒"

"Enough already, Seven. You do not bring bad luck. You shouldn't listen to what your neighbors are saying. They're just a bunch of lazy bums who work the rumor mills. Or maybe try getting serious with volley instead. Who knows, maybe you're meant to play volleyball than basketball..."