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Monday, 13 February 2017


Today is the 44th day of the year. That's what the bus driver told me. Well, not him really, the info display on the bus, showing time, date, route and trivia stuff, like how many days are there left till the end of 2017 (321, interesting, as it's the exact reverse version of the, you guessed it, 123), whose names day it is (Greg and Kate), and finally which day of the year it is (my LMSP would know by now anyway; she really likes finding out solutions to math problems...)

To me, number 44 is quite specific. Not only because it's a combination of two exactly the same digits. But also because of that romantic poem written approximately 200 years ago by one of the 3 most significant Romantic poets of Polish literature. It was telling a story of the sort of chosen one who would save whoever needed to be saved. And that saviour's name was 44. So, it's important. It's the number and the name of the hero.

The day was not that heroic (unless you count my genuine attempts to stay calm and be brave at the dentist; you'd have to ask them whether successful, really, as my opinion is logically bias). But it meant something.

I had a chance to see people on the street. Not stare at them but notice the world around, the faces not so smiley, the talking not so light and positive, the air not so fresh and mild. All that was fascinating and sad at the same time.
Yet, when the false bomb alert came into equation, the one I was accidentally in the middle of, none of that mattered. The funny part was, I knew nothing of that.

Sometimes, not knowing is the best that can happen to you. Even if it is the last thing that happens to you.

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