Little pigs, French hens, a family of bears. Blind mice, musketeers, the Fates. Parts of an atom, laws of thought, a guideline for composition. Omne trium perfectum? Create your own group of threes, and describe why and how they fit together.
If you want to feel magic, wake up before the world has started its engine, before the birds have begun chirping, and before the ground has stopped snoring. Go out at a time typically reserved for grave shifts and commuters, long-haul truckers and nocturnal predators, horror games and students cram-studying. Go explore at four forty-four.
The number four in many East Asian cultures is treated as unlucky. Pronounced as “sì (四)” in Mandarin Chinese, it sounds remarkably similar to the character for death, “sĭ (死)”. Cities will go to the point of avoiding the number when planning street addresses and construction companies when numbering floors. 4:44 AM is a special time because of this; a time when the rest of the world has yet to wake and when the dead are closest to the living.
At this time, if you choose to explore the empty paths—where the loudest sounds are your footsteps hitting the concrete sidewalk; where the only lights are from the flickering lamp posts and dancing fireflies—then you will feel it. Despite walking on your own, you will not feel alone. And despite being free, you will eventually feel trapped by the obligations of the day ahead.
As dawn turns to morning, the next time shows its magic twice during the day. Everyone has heard the phrase “11:11, make a wish”, or some variation of it. Friends wish it to friends, family to family, and coworkers to coworkers. We all know it, yet it has no clear origin. Its first occurrence, 11:11 AM, follows its fame as it falls during one of the busiest times of day, with people bustling and working all around it; a period fitting for the time’s widely known nature.
However, although it seems like a lucky number, granting our wishes and obtaining its title as one of the “angel numbers”, it’s also a lonely number. Four “1”s make up it, four individuals briefly connecting in the moment only to separate sixty seconds later. As day turns to night, 11:11 PM takes on a different tone in its second appearance, trading daytime wishes for a quieter kind of magic. At that point, the world has begun to let out its last breaths for the day, the streets sigh as their asphalt tops feel relief in the absence of cars, and parents begin to put their kids to bed. Those unfortunate enough to be on their own feel their loneliness amplify as tired delusions and emotions fill their mind. They glance at the clock and see the four “1”s lined up, thinking to wish one last wish before sleeping.
The final time, 7:06 PM, is a time for unwinding and for community. Falling after the work day and just after the nation’s average dinner time of 6:19 PM, it’s different from the bustling nature of 11:11 AM and from either of the contrasting feelings of isolation at 4:44 AM or 11:11 PM. Against the western world’s view, I always think of it as 6:66 PM, matching a Chinese proverb, “liù liù dà shùn (六六大顺)”. That saying means with sixes—one of the luckiest numbers—everything will go well. No time can better reflect the idiom as none match the goodness of the joy and community often found during 7:06 PM. There’s the connections with your family found through watching sports teams and playing board games; in hanging out with friends and watching movies; and in candlelit dinners with the people you love.
These three times are all special to me. Though they have their own unique explanations and connections in their backgrounds through culture and society, the thing that makes them truly special is their personal meanings to me.
4:44 AM. I first found it by coincidence. Setting the wrong alarm and rushing out the door without checking the time, I ran to catch the bus. It was only after waiting for several minutes that I looked at my watch. Realizing I had awoken far too early, I figured, “Since I’m awake, I might as well go for a walk”. That was what became the first of many similar adventures. 4:44 is the time when I’m most alone, though in a good way.
11:11 AM. It has been the time for my lunch period since starting middle school. After transferring schools, it fulfilled my wish for friends. Laughing over splayed out cards, I remember sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, playing Magic: The Gathering and yelling about a new video game. As I’ve grown though, it’s become a time for community and wishes in a different way: through club meetings, band rehearsals focused on upcoming performances, and cram study sessions for upcoming tests with similarly procrastinating friends.
7:06 (6:66) PM. Before my grandma left, it was the time that my family used to eat dinner together (my parents now get home too late to eat until much later). It represents an innocent time when my sister and I would race to get my parents drinks and to set the table, where I was most connected to my family, and when everything in my life was going the most smoothly, just like the idiom. Now that my family only spends brief periods together, it’s a time that I wish I cherished more
11:11 PM. For me, this time goes against any meaning it has elsewhere, yet it continues the essence of friendship its twin held earlier in the day. At this time, I’m most often found calling my oldest friends and playing games, holding no other wishes for the world than to win my match. During our matches and through our long-held inside jokes on call, I feel a stronger connection with others than any other time.
They’re a set of three times which, despite not immediately fitting together, connect because of their meanings to me, my culture, and my experiences. These times, rooted in my personal history, remind me of the values of solitude and community. They serve as daily reminders of what’s important to me and to cherish all that I have, each matching a different core part of me: 1, myself; 2, my friends (both old and new); and 3, my family.