The Battle Beneath My Breath

By Aditi K.- 8th

The classroom is engulfed in an air of silence, as if we have frozen in time, with only the sounds of keyboards working away. The stench of sweaty football players starts to slowly fade away, as the sweet cinnamon and nutmeg candle (stolen by Mr. Mays from his wife) effortlessly covers up their tracks. I could see the immense focus of my peers all around me, working with such intent on their Civil War essays. I, too, am zeroed in on finishing my third paragraph, my palms sweaty, a frown on my face, eyes darting from one part of my essay to the next–at least I was. A loud HIC escapes from within, shattering the stillness, like a glass hitting the floor. Heads turn, and a crowd of eyes stares me down, but not more than a few laughs and fake coughs are exchanged before a blanket of silence settles down upon us once more. The peace doesn’t last long, though. HIC! Once again, my concentration is disrupted. I sigh, catching my breath. Here we go again, I thought to myself. An anticipated surge of hiccups flee, yet my body still tenses up. I fail to regain the coldness that once surrounded me, now being guarded by the everlasting heat and sweat accumulating in me. I try to hold my breath and keep it inside, but it never fails to break free. I mean, what was I thinking anyway? My nemesis is unforeseeable and unbeatable. It can conquer me in only a few seconds. Surprising right? A diaphragm spasm and quick closure of vocal cords can take over an entire human body within less than a minute. It’s so time-consuming and exhausting to deal with, showing up at the most inconvenient times; no wonder it’s my nemesis.

This part of annoyance living inside me–or so I assume–is tiny and invisible–invincible– hiding in my very body. I can’t see it, I can’t find it, and I can’t hear it– at least until it acts upon me. Its name is Hiccups. It finds the most inconvenient and undesirable times to prey on me and hunts me right down, for a long, exhausting period of time. During presentations, while I’m studying, and even during meals, Hiccups never fail to make my days stretch long and make me feel small. When it wills itself out in public spaces, it humiliates and mortifies me. Even at home, it tires and wears me out. 

My nemesis is very intelligent–brilliant in fact– knowing very well when to sneak up on me. Its persistence in irritating me works quite well, able to infuriate me fast. Most of all, it has a superior success rate. Its success keeps it excited and more frequent in my life. It becomes increasingly difficult to avoid it the more it intrudes into my life. Apart from its success rate, it’s quite effective at identifying the optimal interruption periods. Its stealthiness and arrogance haunt and taunt me regularly.

I must admit, however, that I acknowledge that it isn’t entirely my nemesis’s fault for intruding in my life, but rather my love for unbearably spicy food, Izze, and other carbonated, fruity drinks. I know. I know. You’re probably thinking that it has nothing to do with eating my favorite snacks, but it’s the prime reason I suffer from my nemesis. When I eat what I love, I irritate my nemesis. I cause it to become infuriated. I cause it to act upon me. I have made it my nemesis. I am the one who has caused this unstable, unhealthy relationship with Hiccups. I wish I could forget about the things I relish and adore, but it isn’t that easy. It isn’t easy to just leave behind the things that make you keep going. The things that bring you to tomorrow. For me, that includes my favorite snacks and drinks–food in general. I can’t just watch others make me envious and hungry. I can’t ignore what I love while being face to face with the harder things in life, the stuff I hate (like tomatoes and bananas), and the things that don’t want me to go another day. I can’t let go, even if that means facing my nemesis.

While I’m partly to blame for my nemesis’s annoyance, it’s quite unbearable, barging in at the most inconvenient, undesirable times. It’s rather profound the memories that my nemesis and I share. We have a variety of stories together, taking place in settings like the comfort of my house and the crowded school grounds. I vividly remember the memory of that one packed, stressful day when Hiccups and I encountered each other… once again. I was casually doing my homework, working through the Lesson 8 Set Problems in my hefty emerald green Unit 2 math book. My hand started cramping like crazy as I struggled to keep my momentum going. I was “in the zone” and didn’t want to stop, my only goal being to finish my last piece of homework for the day. I knew the reward I could acquire if I finished my work early: getting to continue watching my favorite TV show ever, Grey’s Anatomy!

As the sheets of pages to reach Lesson 9 got thinner and thinner, the grin I unknowingly had on my face grew wider, exhibiting my light blue braces. I was so close, only a few more problems to go, and Hiccups just had to barge into MY moment. The tension and excitement that had once been bubbling in me was now nowhere to be found. The grin on my face had been erased, covered up in the frustration that settled over me. Why? I thought to myself. Why? Why? Why? I fought so hard with my nemesis that day. It fought with me, too. It just had to steal the spotlight once again. I was done with it, exasperated in fact. It was a game now, a competition–one that I always lose. Hiccups gives up at one point, but only because it’s always a breeze for it. It’s always quite a loss for me. It never fails to break free. 

I must just deal with Hiccups; easier said than done. It takes a whole lot of effort just to accept that it has arrived and that it’s not going anywhere–how could I possibly battle it? Through my numerous unpleasant memories with Hiccups, you can take it from me when I say that dealing with Hiccups has taught me to be patient, and it’s better to let it get bored rather than feed it with pleasure. After all, all it is is a game–one that can’t last forever. At one point, it will have to stop its little competition that it’s taking part in. I’m no longer a player in the game; I’m just a spectator in the audience.