Barely into the start of my second semester and I have been complaining like a little wimp about the pile of work I have. Sometimes, I tend to forget about people around me who work even harder.
A stroke can do many things to a patient, like taking away one's movement or one's neurological capabilities; a few months ago, she lost some of the latter. You see, the thing about aphasia is that the inflicted person reminds you of the brackish water at the bottom of a weeks-old vase of flowers; one week of mental and physical discomfort in the ward is enough to shatter someone's core. She was a very independent and self-sufficient woman, and I saw all of that crumble down. She hated herself, and that hatred was the very thing that could snap the tripwire to a second attack, and every night I sleep with fear that she will never free herself of herself. At times, I felt guilty of having fun because how could I be having it easy when there she was struggling to keep awake from the drowsiness of pills? Even texting her was a heartache because this time I knew that "typing..." didn't mean that she was slow at typing, but that she couldn't find the words to use or that she forgot how to spell. I tried to play her favourite game more often, because perhaps she'd find it easier to move some candies around than to type or speak -- less thinking, less stress. I sent her many 'lives', waiting for her to send me one back. "I don't know how to play already, very tiring," she said. She was about to give up, and so did I.
Today, she gleefully announced to us that she went for acupuncture treatment for the first time and even by bus alone. Today, she sent me a 'life', requesting one back, and this is when I know that I'm not the only one working hard in school.
