Here

I deactivated my Twitter account and my personal account on Facebook. Temporarily, of course. Eventually I'll need to reactivate them on business purposes. But for now, I need to take a break. I need to lessen my 'complaint counter'. You know? It's Ramadhan. Or maybe it's not entirely about Ramadhan. It's just unhealthy. Especially now that I'm unwell, I tend to sigh and whine publicly. Which is not good. I don't want to encourage that bad habit in me, not even privately, if possible. I don't want to be ungrateful. At least I try not to be. So I thought- let's just keep it here, Wani. Your secret hideaway. Your quiet space. Here. I've been sick. Right after I tweeted my relief about surviving one whole year without getting admitted, I fell sick. On and off. One after another. Again and again. Clinics, hospitals, wards. Even to this very second, as I'm typing this, I am struggling with pain. I can't describe how challenging this is, mentally, physically, and emotionally. It's a lonely battle. I've learned that nothing is lonelier than being ill. I thought as I grow older, I would be stronger. But I'm wrong. I find myself crying, alone, on stretchers, on wheelchairs, more frequent than ever. This is quite confusing and frustrating considering I've been going to hospitals by myself since I was in my late teens. I feel small. Smaller than I've ever felt before. There are days when I'm optimistic and feel close to God, days when the fact that "everything happens for a reason and God will not test me beyond my capability" is enough to hush me, tuck me into bed, and put me to sleep . I try comforting myself and make it seem light, make it sound fun though secretly I swear to God it's not fun at all. There are days when I'm just so tired and exhausted. Moments when I honestly feel like I could die and my body cannot bear it anymore. I wish I'm exaggerating. I wish I'm making these up. Every time I find myself lying subconsciously on the floor, or lying excruciatingly on bed, or tubes and needles in and out of my body, I hopelessly and desperately wish it was all a dream. A nightmare. This is not happening. I am okay. I just don't really show. At least not the reality of it. I try to act like it's nothing, I'm used to it, just another bump I need to overcome. Truth is, every experience is different. I can never get used to it. I have stopped hoping, long time ago, for people who mean a lot to me, to be concerned about my pain as much as they should be. I have stopped caring for anyone to care. "Kita kena faham orang yang tak faham kita," Ayah pernah kata. True enough. They don't understand. They don't know. It's not their fault if they don't care as much. They don't need too. Life is packed with commitments and responsibilities, the world is loaded with problems and tragedies; I am just a tiny part of it. I must not be selfish. I am just me. I'll take care of me. In the end it's just going to be me. I can't afford to worry about people anymore. My sickness consumes so much of me already. If there's anything I should be worried about- making more money to pay for my medical bills.