Third day sa hospital. My sister and I are sleeping in the same cushioned seat, sharing one blue fleecy blanket. Sometimes, I think we might’ve looked like conjoined paternal twins. At times like this, I feel like Dr. Strange in that Avenger movie: facing many realities in one sitting. One: my heart is breaking. Two: the breaking feels too much, I feel so human in a span of what–72 hours? Three: something about the breaking makes me think I don’t want a heart anymore. Four: in the midst of all these, there remains a lot of things and people to be thankful for. Doctors and nurses who’ve been looking after her. TV technician who fixed my sister’s TV woes. The family: a strange collective of silent prayers, silly jokes, and strength. Visiting relatives for giving time and food. I barely remember the movie now, but somewhere at the end, Dr. Strange picked one reality hoping for the best. I don’t have superpowers, but I think I can do the picking. Every single day of this hard, hard week or weeks, I will try to keep on choosing Four.