As I was peeping through our screen window to see if it’s raining outside, I spotted what looked like a crumpled bill on the ground just below our clothes hanging on the line in our terrace. I initially ignored what I saw; for all I know, my eyes could be playing tricks on me as I wasn’t wearing my eyeglasses at the time.
When I finally gathered our dry clothes, I looked at the thing again, and there it was, a bit torn and tattered, 1 Turkish lira. I picked it up and instinctively looked upward for a hint on where it came from. From the look and smell of it, the thing seemed authentic.
Someone from the upper floors might have dropped it accidentally. Or it could also be dropped deliberately with a wish of good luck for someone who’d be able to pick it up. That lucky one turned out to be me.
And to think I had been feeling ill at ease these past few days because I’d be returning to work this Monday, only two days from now, and I still haven’t found someone to look after my son.
(Note: Our all-around helper who left for the province last December and promised to come back won’t be returning after all, that after giving her financial help for her operation, which, after seeking second opinion, turned out wasn’t really necessary.)
Now, I’m not really a superstitious person, but I’m vulnerable to believe anything right now, even something as giving this Turkish bill a meaning. This thing came out of nowhere, but it landed on my back doorstep.
Perhaps to remind me that all hope is not lost, that I’d be able to find someone better able to care for my son, that I’d still be able to work and in the process, continue to support my parents, and that I’d be reaping greater financial rewards this year.
I tucked this bill neatly into my purse and smiled. My heart swelled with hope.