I had two periods when I fell sick during Ramadhan.
The first incident was accidental. It was the back pain that came after I was stuck for 2 hours at Pasar Seni carrying a 5 kg laptop bag. That night, I was already crying in pain. I had no other option but to go to the clinic. Thankfully, Af convinced me that he should drive me, because I found out that night that all the clinics in my vicinity were closed after 10 pm (not 24 hours like I thought). Imagine ngensot to the clinic at night only to find out it’s closed. Anyway, I arrived at the clinic, got a painkiller and muscle relaxant shot, and managed to sleep lying down. I had an MC the next day. I was in pain, on medication, and super groggy. Everything slowed down. The next 5 days were a recovery phase. It was not fun, purely physical pain.
The second one was a bit innocent. It started with Sofi. She had a fever and cough, then she seemed fine. But she passed it to me. I had a 5-day pulsing migraine that was connected to my right ear and the top right side of my head, twitching one eye like a pirate, with a bad sore throat, a voice like a sailor, random excessive coughing, a runny nose, and feeling like I was functioning at 30%. How extra. How dramatic, kan.
During all these sickly times, I lay in bed, counting the hours until I got better (usually after 5 days). I realized that at times like this, I’m reminded that I am alive, but also of being bedridden, or even death—everything morbid.
I also realized that whenever I fall sick, I’m usually alone, just waiting for recovery. With God’s will, I just need time. But during those challenging moments, when Sofi cried because she wanted to play with me and I had to say, “I’m sick, I can’t, I’m in pain, please,” I wished she could understand. But she’s 7, and she won’t always understand. Then I blame myself, because that’s what mothers do. We always try to be superhuman.
Anyway, that pushed me to a realization: at times like this, I have to embrace the fact that there are moments when I am incapable of being the superhuman I think I am. That sometimes, I might need to ask for help, to call for reinforcement, or to beg for support. And I’m always disappointed, because why do we rely on humans? We are so flawed. We don’t always have the capacity.
People ask me why I can’t just embrace my singlehood; being alone, it’s freeing, kan. Of course, emotionally, I do prefer being alone, I love it. But I am also a mother, and there will be times when I can’t be the best version of myself. I need a village, that’s what matters for her growth. I’m not going to sit here romanticizing single parenthood just to feed my ego, just to make myself proud for doing everything “alone.” No. This is not the time to repeat history. You have no idea how many times I’ve been gaslighted for making myself vulnerable and asking for help. The world can be utterly indifferent; I don't know why I'm still surprised. But I'm not going to give up now.
I play this in my head like it is a problem that needs to be solved, because this is what I do—solving problems. But sometimes, it is just a situation. It is what life is: the things that I can't control, the things that I need to endure, the pain that I need to carry, the emotions that I need to feel. Maybe it does not always need a solution, kan.
It's good that I can actually process it and write my thoughts coherently. See how much I've grown.
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