Three weeks after Christmas, my grandmother is still in the hospital. The last week, she had spent at the ICU. It was, and still is, a grueling moment for all of us. Aside from the fact that we're all emotionally distraught, we are financially exhausted. The option we had recently took is our last resort. If that wouldn't work, I don't know what to do anymore.
Frankly speaking, it's taking its toll on me. For how many weeks, I have managed to tell myself that I am strong and that everything will be okay. But with lack of assurance from people who are supposed to help us, it is getting more and more difficult as days pass by. Suddenly, everything felt difficult. Suddenly, I could no longer find anything to be positive on.
As a 23 year old woman who hasn't enjoyed life at its best yet, this came off as a very challenging surprise. I was caught off guard. Although I have to admit that I somehow failed to credit those people abroad for the help they extended, but at the end of each day, it is still me and my family who suffer the most. Clearly, I want to give up. For a moment last night, I thought that I should be brave enough to be the one to pull the respirator off my grandmother's system. I know that guilt will be eating me alive every second of my life then (because for all we know, it will be me who will kill her), but she has been suffering so much already.
But then, of course, I can't.
I can't help but feel totally remorseful. Last night, I have realized that at this point in time, I am no longer in the position to dream. Even if this ends, the responsibilities shall continue until God-knows-when. There's no more assurance in my life, and all dreams I have formulated in my mind during the past years should be scraped off now, as hoping for all of it to come true will now be like hoping against hope.
For the next months and years, I am no longer allowed to live life for myself. Even the small pleasures in life like falling in love should be forgotten. I have decided on that already. To be honest, I feel like I no longer deserve to live life properly. Dramatic, this is; but for a 23-year-old whose life is beginning to be chucked out from her in a slow and torturous manner, this is perhaps just normal.
Truth is, I'm scared. I'm scared of what lies ahead. I know it's just a matter of thinking and all. But as I know myself, I'd rather wallow on pity and depression than expect and get disappointed in the end.
But then, what's the use of naming January Faith when I can't practice that?
Then it all boils down to this: I still believe that things will be fine. I'm trying to be very positive at the moment (for my mother, at least, who depends on me for emotional strength). However, I need to be prepared. There's no one to hold on to. There's no one to ask for help. We're living on our own, and this problem - even though it is ought to be shouldered by more than ten people - were given on us and we're left with no choice but to carry it.
I am in a very difficult situation. And my only hope lies in God. Although my faith still wavers sometimes, I have to constantly tell myself to just let "Thy will be done."