Ophiuchus the favorite

When news came out that there was a new Zodiac in town, the world broke into frenzy as if there’s also been a reshuffling of fates.  I was comfortable being a wild, tactless, flower trampling, arrow-shooting Sagittarius for more than 20 years until Google said I’m a serpent holder with an affinity to healing and not a raging war horse.  I was dumbstruck. Troubled, even.

The irony is that nothing could be worse than being a hybrid of two unstable signs, Sag + Scorpio (I was born 30th of November) with the most harrowing tempers. But Imhotep is a character so docile and far less interesting. I mean really, healing and trouble, that’s hot and cold for you—that’s so effing Gemini.

One thing that struck me about the new sign is the description that it is highly favored by authorities. I must confess, I knew and felt that I was / is a favorite more than once—or twice, and thrice—but there were also personages who hated me to the gut, to the marrow (including a grade school Filipino teacher who blamed me for the faults he incurred towards old age, such as, but not limited to, severe hair loss).

Ophiuchus the favorite.

I was the favorite an old woman born under the supposed Zodiac, the same date, 30th of November, only about sixty years ahead. She survived war time bombings and raids but not old age. My mother SMSed that the lady passed away this morning because her heart stopped. Her stars froze and that was it. During our last interaction, it seemed that the old woman barely remembers her name or my name but she knew that we were born 30th of November and because of that, I was her only favored grandchild. There was no one else.

I must be a fucking jewel.

The only I thing I feel about death is THAT hint of deadness, and after which, comes a rush of cruel, cold practicality. Next steps. Always the next steps. I don’t know how I would deal with more deaths in the future, but I am afraid  that the practicality might become less and less punctual.

Because that deadness burns when it lingers.

This is one of the few times where being a favorite didn’t work to my advantage. I am Ophiuchus minus the capacity to heal. So in this occasion, if it ever was a matter of preference, I would very much want to remain a Sag firing straight arrows.

Good night.

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