I honestly cannot recall any moment in my life where I actually felt helpless. Not that I have that type of clean slate on my history files, but I just cannot remember. What about the moment I fell down a slippery flight of stairs with my sister’s three-year old daughter in my arms? Helplessness can be counted in moments, too, and not always over long periods of time. It had been raining earlier that day. What day that was, I cannot remember. The second floor hallway was flooded as and we decided to take a trip to the mall. The rain has stopped by then, giving us that window of opportunity to go. I was carrying little Didi, walking in front. I survived the first flight down, and reached the landing between floors. Usually I waited for my sister to join me before I continue descent, but not that day, no. I slipped on the first step down, landing on my buttocks and lower back. It did not end quite there. Because of the flood in the hallway, the water has found its way down the stairs, naturally. As result to my obvious carelessness, I slid down the entire second flight, feeling the raps of pain as I hit each step, all the while clinging to little Didi; fear the dominant party obliterating all other senses. There was definitely helplessness. I slid down with no useful arms to break the slide or bring myself to a stop. It was like an avalanche has no certain point of depletion. My arms were tightly wrapped around her body, joints locked. I feared for her safety, helpless to stop whatever might happen to her on the way down, completely selfless. Now, I love my sister’s kids as I would do my own one day, but the fear and constricted sense of responsibility having been sitting in my arms were enormous. That is why I do not carry kids around anymore. Not that I am ashamed of what happened, it could happen to anyone, but the fear of something like that ever happening again made me reluctant. I was so cross with myself when I finally got up, the girl still in my arms, intact. Didi was not even crying, for heaven’s sake. My sister was laughing so hard that her eyes began to sting and burn as result to running mascara. Later I laughed at her, too. Karma is a dog. Someone else tried to help me up but I quite forcefully and angrily declined. I was still in shock at that time and regret being rude, but hey, who could help that when the probable life of a minor was at stake? That was the worst bout of helplessness I could remember. Ever.