I get so confused when people say they are better people because of their accident. Or that they’re so thankful for their illness. There is something in those statements that feels inauthentic, or performative in some way. It’s what people want to hear to soothe their own fears about something bad happening to their own health, but is it actually true for the person saying it? It might be 100% true for some, but it’s such a foreign concept to me, something I can’t even fathom.
I would go back to my former life in a heartbeat. I have absolutely zero regrets about who I was or what I did (yes Megan, except Oktoberfest lol). And I haven’t become a better person. Harder. Wiser. Feistier. But definitely not better, and arguably worse. I have so much hate, anger and sadness inside me - emotions I had only known on a first name basis before. Now, they visit almost everyday. Sometimes they stay for awhile and other times they sneak away while I’m still sleeping, making sure to add a dab of themselves to my dreams before they go. And sometimes, when I’m lucky, they forget to visit all together, but oddly, l miss their company.
I know my essence, my heart is still the same. Still loving, still kind, still trying to be a *bringer of joy to family, friends and strangers alike, with the limited life that I have. But is that enough? Does it cancel out the random flashes of hatred I feel towards anyone and everyone around me? Does it make up for the overwhelming anger and sadness I’ll probably always feel when I think about the future that died that cold November day?
I was going through some old emails and gchat conversations from college and medschool and I suddenly felt a sweeping, terrible feeling of longing. Without hesitation, I texted a friend, “I really miss my former life.” She replied, “I really miss your former life for you too.” And suddenly, it didn’t hurt as badly. Maybe it was the validation or maybe it was feeling seen, but something in that insanely devastating and fulfilling conversation helped. Before my stroke, I could never imagine having a conversation with someone with that much depth, love and vulnerability. So I guess there’s that. My relationships with some have gotten more superficial, but my relationships with others - family, old friends and new - have developed into something extraordinary. Just look at my relationship with my brother.
So no, I’m not a better person because of my stroke. I’m the same, or maybe even slightly worse. It’s ok, super smiley and service-obsessed teenage Harshada set the bar pretty high. And I’m not in the slightest bit thankful for my stroke. I would still welcome my old life with arms, heart and soul wide open. But, there’s at least two aspects of my life that are better than before: my friendships, and the mere existence of my dog Duke. Maybe, I’ll stumble upon a few more, at least I’m trying.
*The meaning of my name
Monday, August 9, 2021
Monday, August 2, 2021
Heat Waves
(Just a quick update, but I wanted to include this song lol) I heard Rafa was coming to play a tournament in D.C. for the first time and normally I wouldn’t think twice about it (too much effort, hard to get accessible tickets, etc). But because of yes year and all that, my brother, sister-in-law and I decided to look into it. The more we learned about it, the more excited we got. From the food by Chef José Andrés to the perfect Friday night session we could attend, it seemed to be just for us. But unfortunately, as soon as Rafa announced he was coming, tickets sold out and tickets on resale sites were going for $1000. We tried messaging and tweeting at everyone on Rafa’s team who we had met two years ago but no luck. There were still thousands left on the waitlist so we had all but given up.
Then, my dad randomly entered us in a giveaway for two free tickets for the Friday night session, and somehow, wait for it, we won! So I guess the world did decide to meet me halfway. I said yes to the world so it said yes to me. I know this is small and frivolous, but it’s something. Now, let’s hope we miraculously catch Rafa’s eye and he somehow remembers us. Sometimes all I think about is you…
UPDATE: Sooo Rafa unexpectedly lost Thursday night so we canceled our trip and returnedd our tickets. I said yes to the world and it said yes to me, but then it went all 90s on me and was like SIKE! JUST KIDDING! Then it laughed meniacally at my short-lived, warm and fuzzy feelings about fate. Sigh. World: 5,001 Harshada: 0. But I'm going to keep coming at you, world. Just you wait.
Then, my dad randomly entered us in a giveaway for two free tickets for the Friday night session, and somehow, wait for it, we won! So I guess the world did decide to meet me halfway. I said yes to the world so it said yes to me. I know this is small and frivolous, but it’s something. Now, let’s hope we miraculously catch Rafa’s eye and he somehow remembers us. Sometimes all I think about is you…
UPDATE: Sooo Rafa unexpectedly lost Thursday night so we canceled our trip and returnedd our tickets. I said yes to the world and it said yes to me, but then it went all 90s on me and was like SIKE! JUST KIDDING! Then it laughed meniacally at my short-lived, warm and fuzzy feelings about fate. Sigh. World: 5,001 Harshada: 0. But I'm going to keep coming at you, world. Just you wait.
Sunday, July 18, 2021
Mr. Brightside
How am I still an optimist? You would think that the world would have beaten every last bit of positivity out of me. But no, it’s still there, sticking it’s annoying head out at every opportune moment - whispering it’s affirmations, as naive and bright-eyed as ever. These corny whispers totally ruin my street cred when I’m just trying to be a realist, or even a cynic who manages her expectations. I’d rather be happy when things surpass my realistic expectations rather than disappointed when things fall short of my needlessly high expectations. So after all the many colorful disappointments in my life that always leave me bare and broken, how have I not learned my lesson?
I’m working on some writing that’s required me to read through my old blogs on this site. Most of them follow a similar formula - they’re really raw, honest and tragic for most of the post and then it takes a somewhat abrupt turn to sugary sweet positivity. The hopeful endings never sounded quite authentic so I always assumed that I threw in a little positivity for my readers because otherwise, my posts would be too much of a downer. But I’m realizing that it was for me.
Even now, I have some wildly dangerous thoughts. They start off pretty innocuous: “Why is my daily life so much harder than all my friends?” to which I don’t have an answer to and never will. “I would kill to have their problems.” But it inevitably leads to the dangerous one: “I’m tired of this life.” I know it’s a useless, unproductive thought that only shows it’s face during a fleeting moment of weakness. But I know it’s unhealthy to sit with negative thoughts like that. As soon as I feel those thoughts creeping in, I throw on some T Swift or Friends, and get back to a more familiar headspace of loving laughter and lyrics. But if it progresses to tears, my dog sprints to my side and licks my face forcefully until I start laughing. So I’ve got all my bases covered.
So I guess I’m still an optimist as a self-preservation thing. I need to keep my expectations high and keep swallowing the disappointments, because the alternative, having low expectations, would keep me in such a negative headspace and I don’t want to know how low those thoughts can go. This is just the price I pay, so that one day, my reality will match my high expectations, or maybe even surpass them. But I think I’ve always been an optimist and that never really leaves you, no matter how hard you, or the world, try to destroy it.
I’m working on some writing that’s required me to read through my old blogs on this site. Most of them follow a similar formula - they’re really raw, honest and tragic for most of the post and then it takes a somewhat abrupt turn to sugary sweet positivity. The hopeful endings never sounded quite authentic so I always assumed that I threw in a little positivity for my readers because otherwise, my posts would be too much of a downer. But I’m realizing that it was for me.
Even now, I have some wildly dangerous thoughts. They start off pretty innocuous: “Why is my daily life so much harder than all my friends?” to which I don’t have an answer to and never will. “I would kill to have their problems.” But it inevitably leads to the dangerous one: “I’m tired of this life.” I know it’s a useless, unproductive thought that only shows it’s face during a fleeting moment of weakness. But I know it’s unhealthy to sit with negative thoughts like that. As soon as I feel those thoughts creeping in, I throw on some T Swift or Friends, and get back to a more familiar headspace of loving laughter and lyrics. But if it progresses to tears, my dog sprints to my side and licks my face forcefully until I start laughing. So I’ve got all my bases covered.
So I guess I’m still an optimist as a self-preservation thing. I need to keep my expectations high and keep swallowing the disappointments, because the alternative, having low expectations, would keep me in such a negative headspace and I don’t want to know how low those thoughts can go. This is just the price I pay, so that one day, my reality will match my high expectations, or maybe even surpass them. But I think I’ve always been an optimist and that never really leaves you, no matter how hard you, or the world, try to destroy it.
Tuesday, June 15, 2021
Waiting on the World to Change
“Your best days are not behind you,” said Nik, my good friend from college a few weeks ago. We were at our friend Ankur’s wedding, catching up and reminiscing like we always do. We had way too much fun in college and we know my memory is creepy-good, so it’s always wildly entertaining. But this time, he stopped me. He said that he actually hated that whenever I saw him, I only talked about our epic, old memories. He wanted us to make some new ones. So that we did.
That night, we laughed hysterically and made new memories that will last us each a few lifetimes. But my favorite part of the night was everything we ended up talking about. “Your best days are not behind you.” It’s such a simple, beautiful sentiment but so hard to wrap my head around. I try to visualize it and speak it into existence, but I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes every time. I mean, what’s going to top my once adventurous, nauseatingly happy life full of friends, boyfriends, white coats and wild dreams?
Several years ago, my big, big Chaya made an intriguing promise to herself. She said it was her “yes year” where she decided to make herself say ‘yes’ to everything she would normally say ‘no’ to such as a blind date or a new activity. I always admired her bravery and boldness in most things, but especially in this endeavor. It’s like she was taking a proactive role in writing her own story instead of waiting for the world to act. She let her curiousity and open mind be her only guides. l think, starting with the night of Ankur’s wedding, I decided this was going to be my “yes year,” in an attempt to be brave, to be bold and to get out of my own way. To continue making new memories. I need to be open to the possibility of better days instead of being trapped inside my head, replaying my past on loop. But I can’t keep waiting for better days, I have to start creating better days.
Last night, I was in a weekly Zoom writing class with Chaya and about forty strangers from around the country. I love hearing other people share their work but I prefer to stay an invisible eavesdropper - on mute with my camera off. But last night, I swallowed my insecurities, ignored the terrified voices in my head, and texted Chaya “Yes year!” Then, I switched on the camera, unmuted, cleared my throat and recited a few lines from my piece. It didn’t go as planned - it was scary, emotional and embarrassing but so freaking exhilarating. (Ironically, the same feelings on the night of Ankur’s wedding lol). So ok world, I’m ready. Surprise me, delight me, challenge me, amaze me, I’m ready. But this time, I’ll meet you halfway.
That night, we laughed hysterically and made new memories that will last us each a few lifetimes. But my favorite part of the night was everything we ended up talking about. “Your best days are not behind you.” It’s such a simple, beautiful sentiment but so hard to wrap my head around. I try to visualize it and speak it into existence, but I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes every time. I mean, what’s going to top my once adventurous, nauseatingly happy life full of friends, boyfriends, white coats and wild dreams?
Several years ago, my big, big Chaya made an intriguing promise to herself. She said it was her “yes year” where she decided to make herself say ‘yes’ to everything she would normally say ‘no’ to such as a blind date or a new activity. I always admired her bravery and boldness in most things, but especially in this endeavor. It’s like she was taking a proactive role in writing her own story instead of waiting for the world to act. She let her curiousity and open mind be her only guides. l think, starting with the night of Ankur’s wedding, I decided this was going to be my “yes year,” in an attempt to be brave, to be bold and to get out of my own way. To continue making new memories. I need to be open to the possibility of better days instead of being trapped inside my head, replaying my past on loop. But I can’t keep waiting for better days, I have to start creating better days.
Last night, I was in a weekly Zoom writing class with Chaya and about forty strangers from around the country. I love hearing other people share their work but I prefer to stay an invisible eavesdropper - on mute with my camera off. But last night, I swallowed my insecurities, ignored the terrified voices in my head, and texted Chaya “Yes year!” Then, I switched on the camera, unmuted, cleared my throat and recited a few lines from my piece. It didn’t go as planned - it was scary, emotional and embarrassing but so freaking exhilarating. (Ironically, the same feelings on the night of Ankur’s wedding lol). So ok world, I’m ready. Surprise me, delight me, challenge me, amaze me, I’m ready. But this time, I’ll meet you halfway.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Unwritten
“The mind is fragile, fickle, but the human body is resilient.”
- Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone
False. I love him and love the book, but this statement is absolutely false, well, for me. My body has been the weak, frustrating, and rampantly disobedient one. My mind, on the other hand, has been thè surprisingly and seamlessly miraculous one, impressing even my harshest critic, myself. I don't think I have ever given enough credit to the tenacity and resilience of my mind. I've been in a brain injury rehab program the past two months where I've seen, felt, and understood a whole entire, rather hidden side of rehab. I'm well aware of the physical damage accidents and strokes can cause, but I've been embarrassingly ignorant about the amount of MENTAL damage these injuries can cause. I've seen it all here, and every time, it breaks my heart. The other day I was sitting next to a man who recently suffered a traumatic brain injury, and had some physical, as well as mental deficits. Through some garbled speech, he said he was drawing a picture for his young son at home. I had my mom take me away to the side and just burst into tears, right then and there. I just couldn't understand ( and still cant) how cruel the world could be to not only a person, but a father. A son needs his father, but how can he be there for his son, when a freak accident turned him into someone who can't even properly be there for himself? The word 'unfair' sounds incredibly inadequate right now. I'm surrounded by young people who all had great lives and incredible futures, and they lost it all, not just because of their physical deficits that can eventually be rehabilitated, but because of their mental deficits that have changed them forever. My therapist recently explained to me that it's rare for someone to have a brain injury or stroke, and be completely and severely, cognitively intact... So here I've been for the last 3.5 years, complaining and whining loudly, ignorantly, and quite selfishly, that I've had the worst possible stroke ever in the whole, wide world. While, yes, I've had the worst stroke in the world physically, I've had the best stroke in the world mentally. It's taken me years to realize the most basic thing about my condition, to not just realize it, but to truly understand it and to wholeheartedly feel it, with every ounce of my being. I've been so blinded by my massive physical deficits, my few strengths tend to be rather elusive and difficult to truly appreciate. But I've come to the semi-harsh realization that, however awful my situation is, it could be worse, so much worse. I have my mind, MY MIND, so pure and completely untouched. I'm still me. I know I've said that before, but for the first time, I'm truly awed and deeply humbled by this precious gift.
But the unappreciative devil's advocate part of me disagrees and disapproves, and begs the question, isnt it that same 'pure and untouched' mind that allows me to see and understand the severe devastation of my injury? Wouldn't I be happier if I wasn't so acutely aware of how much I'd lost? Is my mental clarity and medical background actually a curse? Can a person understand their stroke too much? I don't know the answers to these hypothetical questions, and frankly, I don't care. I probably would be a lot happier if I had some mental deficits to leave me peacefully in blissful ignorance, but would anyone else be happier? My family and friends lost me physically, but they have me, without a doubt, mentally and emotionally. I think that subtle fact is what's keeping people together - they know I may not be around much, but they know if they read my blog or my tweets, or visit me in person, it will be 100% pure Harshada. I may not look like me, or sound like me, but it's me, all me, the same ol' me - Shady, Harshonda, Hersh, ibe2fly4u - still the same girl you all know and looove (though I seriously think my stroke made me witty). Actually, I think it's what's keeping ME together, keeping me from breaking into a million hopeless pieces every frustrating day, keeping me from losing myself altogether. I'm still me. You guys have no idea how empowering writing this blog is for me; even though I've lost so much of myself and my life to this stroke, writing this blog reminds me that my voice is still mine. But, I've come to realize that writing this blog is bigger than just me. I was somehow allowed to keep my entire mind, despite having a massive stroke. Not everyone gets that luck. The media has a knack for euphemistically portraying brain injuries and mental deficits as glamorous and simple, but I now know its quite the opposite, horrifying and tragic. I need to write, to share my story, to use my mind; not only for you and me, but to represent all the wonderful people I met, who all had tragic stories, but weren't given the precious gift of an intact mind. With my mind leading the way, we won't be unwritten. (This blog was largely inspired by one of my therapists.Thank you for showing me and teaching me that my life has meaning.)
- Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone
False. I love him and love the book, but this statement is absolutely false, well, for me. My body has been the weak, frustrating, and rampantly disobedient one. My mind, on the other hand, has been thè surprisingly and seamlessly miraculous one, impressing even my harshest critic, myself. I don't think I have ever given enough credit to the tenacity and resilience of my mind. I've been in a brain injury rehab program the past two months where I've seen, felt, and understood a whole entire, rather hidden side of rehab. I'm well aware of the physical damage accidents and strokes can cause, but I've been embarrassingly ignorant about the amount of MENTAL damage these injuries can cause. I've seen it all here, and every time, it breaks my heart. The other day I was sitting next to a man who recently suffered a traumatic brain injury, and had some physical, as well as mental deficits. Through some garbled speech, he said he was drawing a picture for his young son at home. I had my mom take me away to the side and just burst into tears, right then and there. I just couldn't understand ( and still cant) how cruel the world could be to not only a person, but a father. A son needs his father, but how can he be there for his son, when a freak accident turned him into someone who can't even properly be there for himself? The word 'unfair' sounds incredibly inadequate right now. I'm surrounded by young people who all had great lives and incredible futures, and they lost it all, not just because of their physical deficits that can eventually be rehabilitated, but because of their mental deficits that have changed them forever. My therapist recently explained to me that it's rare for someone to have a brain injury or stroke, and be completely and severely, cognitively intact... So here I've been for the last 3.5 years, complaining and whining loudly, ignorantly, and quite selfishly, that I've had the worst possible stroke ever in the whole, wide world. While, yes, I've had the worst stroke in the world physically, I've had the best stroke in the world mentally. It's taken me years to realize the most basic thing about my condition, to not just realize it, but to truly understand it and to wholeheartedly feel it, with every ounce of my being. I've been so blinded by my massive physical deficits, my few strengths tend to be rather elusive and difficult to truly appreciate. But I've come to the semi-harsh realization that, however awful my situation is, it could be worse, so much worse. I have my mind, MY MIND, so pure and completely untouched. I'm still me. I know I've said that before, but for the first time, I'm truly awed and deeply humbled by this precious gift.
But the unappreciative devil's advocate part of me disagrees and disapproves, and begs the question, isnt it that same 'pure and untouched' mind that allows me to see and understand the severe devastation of my injury? Wouldn't I be happier if I wasn't so acutely aware of how much I'd lost? Is my mental clarity and medical background actually a curse? Can a person understand their stroke too much? I don't know the answers to these hypothetical questions, and frankly, I don't care. I probably would be a lot happier if I had some mental deficits to leave me peacefully in blissful ignorance, but would anyone else be happier? My family and friends lost me physically, but they have me, without a doubt, mentally and emotionally. I think that subtle fact is what's keeping people together - they know I may not be around much, but they know if they read my blog or my tweets, or visit me in person, it will be 100% pure Harshada. I may not look like me, or sound like me, but it's me, all me, the same ol' me - Shady, Harshonda, Hersh, ibe2fly4u - still the same girl you all know and looove (though I seriously think my stroke made me witty). Actually, I think it's what's keeping ME together, keeping me from breaking into a million hopeless pieces every frustrating day, keeping me from losing myself altogether. I'm still me. You guys have no idea how empowering writing this blog is for me; even though I've lost so much of myself and my life to this stroke, writing this blog reminds me that my voice is still mine. But, I've come to realize that writing this blog is bigger than just me. I was somehow allowed to keep my entire mind, despite having a massive stroke. Not everyone gets that luck. The media has a knack for euphemistically portraying brain injuries and mental deficits as glamorous and simple, but I now know its quite the opposite, horrifying and tragic. I need to write, to share my story, to use my mind; not only for you and me, but to represent all the wonderful people I met, who all had tragic stories, but weren't given the precious gift of an intact mind. With my mind leading the way, we won't be unwritten. (This blog was largely inspired by one of my therapists.Thank you for showing me and teaching me that my life has meaning.)
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Young homie
Song
I havent had a chance to live... My life stopped at 23. It didn't pause, no, it just stopped. My life hit a wall, a thick, bitter, unforgiving wall, and it was forced to retreat wildly and severely. My mind was still at 23 years old and counting, but but the rest of me was stuck in time, refusing to budge. I was like a broken record, stuck on one beat, one note, one word, as eternity swiftly and unapologetically passed me by. People my age, my friends, are now getting married, starting families, getting incredible degrees, earning fabulous jobs, living their dreams, and partying so much, i wonder why i had the stroke. Now, I'm 27 no husband, no kids, no graduate degree, no job, no house, no forseeable future, no life, nothing. It's not fair, before all this, I had hopes, I had dreams, I had a plan...now it's all gone. Instead of moving forward, ive somehow gone backwards, I've moved back in with my parents, depending on them to literally feed me, clothe me, care for me, when it's about time I start caring for them. I'm sitting here looking at life like, how did I get it wrong? It absolutely sucks to get this sick at any age, but I thînk it's so, so, so much worse to be this sick when you're still so young. It is socially acceptable and medically logically for a 93 year old to be in a wheelchair; but its socially taboo (not to mention, social suicide) and horribly illogical for a 23 year old to be in a wheelchair. Even on an envelope pushing show like 'Glee', the pretty, popular 18 year old girl with a great future at Yale, was shown to have been in a near fatal accident that left her legs paralyzed. But within two episodes, they showed her magically back to normal. Can the audience not handle seeing an innocent, young future so instantly and irrevocably destroyed, a reality I'm forced to accept every freaking day? When someone older gets sick, they have had such a relatively rich past, so it kind of feels ok. When someone young gets sick, they have had such a relatively empty past, it kind of feels tragic...you not only lose them in the present, you lose their future too...it's like they are robbed of their youth, and the world is cheated out of their future. I haven't had a chance to live... But, im not the only one, not at all. There àre hundreds of young people like me, whose lives were robbed in an instant. And, unlike in a tv show, we have to let go of everything we know, to work our asses off, to take our lives back...to win. But I'm one of the lucky ones. I have a loving, incredible family willing to sacrifice anything and everything for me. I have family and friends loyally by my side, who believe in me so much, I have no choice but to believe in myself. With everyone forcing positivity and hope down my throat since day one, I had to let it infest every cell in my powerless and hopeless body. But not everyone is this lucky...to have the means, and enough social support to move mountains. I havent found much "purpose" as to why I had my stroke. So my amazing, ceaselessly positive cousin, Simran, decided we should go ahead and put some purpose behind it. With her passion and my experience, we started with a dream, her brilliance and my writing made it a reality. We started an organization called 'We Will Win' to provide hope to young survivors whose lives have been devastated by serious injury or disease. We not only want to raise awareness about young lives interrupted, but also raise money, through selling t-shirts with catchy phrases from my blog, for many who need help paying for their long and arduous road of rehab.so, here's where you all come in:
1)Share this blog,spread the word
2) Visit, like, and share our facebook page: We will win
3) Buy t-shirts!!!!!!!!! First phrase - I will win. www.weallwillwin.org
The road to recovery CAN turn out great, but it needs hope, time' unwavering determination, support, and, of course, money. With our help, young survivors can have a better opportunity to succeed, to live, to win. We haven't had a chance to live...yet ;)
I havent had a chance to live... My life stopped at 23. It didn't pause, no, it just stopped. My life hit a wall, a thick, bitter, unforgiving wall, and it was forced to retreat wildly and severely. My mind was still at 23 years old and counting, but but the rest of me was stuck in time, refusing to budge. I was like a broken record, stuck on one beat, one note, one word, as eternity swiftly and unapologetically passed me by. People my age, my friends, are now getting married, starting families, getting incredible degrees, earning fabulous jobs, living their dreams, and partying so much, i wonder why i had the stroke. Now, I'm 27 no husband, no kids, no graduate degree, no job, no house, no forseeable future, no life, nothing. It's not fair, before all this, I had hopes, I had dreams, I had a plan...now it's all gone. Instead of moving forward, ive somehow gone backwards, I've moved back in with my parents, depending on them to literally feed me, clothe me, care for me, when it's about time I start caring for them. I'm sitting here looking at life like, how did I get it wrong? It absolutely sucks to get this sick at any age, but I thînk it's so, so, so much worse to be this sick when you're still so young. It is socially acceptable and medically logically for a 93 year old to be in a wheelchair; but its socially taboo (not to mention, social suicide) and horribly illogical for a 23 year old to be in a wheelchair. Even on an envelope pushing show like 'Glee', the pretty, popular 18 year old girl with a great future at Yale, was shown to have been in a near fatal accident that left her legs paralyzed. But within two episodes, they showed her magically back to normal. Can the audience not handle seeing an innocent, young future so instantly and irrevocably destroyed, a reality I'm forced to accept every freaking day? When someone older gets sick, they have had such a relatively rich past, so it kind of feels ok. When someone young gets sick, they have had such a relatively empty past, it kind of feels tragic...you not only lose them in the present, you lose their future too...it's like they are robbed of their youth, and the world is cheated out of their future. I haven't had a chance to live... But, im not the only one, not at all. There àre hundreds of young people like me, whose lives were robbed in an instant. And, unlike in a tv show, we have to let go of everything we know, to work our asses off, to take our lives back...to win. But I'm one of the lucky ones. I have a loving, incredible family willing to sacrifice anything and everything for me. I have family and friends loyally by my side, who believe in me so much, I have no choice but to believe in myself. With everyone forcing positivity and hope down my throat since day one, I had to let it infest every cell in my powerless and hopeless body. But not everyone is this lucky...to have the means, and enough social support to move mountains. I havent found much "purpose" as to why I had my stroke. So my amazing, ceaselessly positive cousin, Simran, decided we should go ahead and put some purpose behind it. With her passion and my experience, we started with a dream, her brilliance and my writing made it a reality. We started an organization called 'We Will Win' to provide hope to young survivors whose lives have been devastated by serious injury or disease. We not only want to raise awareness about young lives interrupted, but also raise money, through selling t-shirts with catchy phrases from my blog, for many who need help paying for their long and arduous road of rehab.so, here's where you all come in:
1)Share this blog,spread the word
2) Visit, like, and share our facebook page: We will win
3) Buy t-shirts!!!!!!!!! First phrase - I will win. www.weallwillwin.org
The road to recovery CAN turn out great, but it needs hope, time' unwavering determination, support, and, of course, money. With our help, young survivors can have a better opportunity to succeed, to live, to win. We haven't had a chance to live...yet ;)
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Somebody that I used to know
November 29th, 2008, I didn't die, no, but my family and friends did, in fact, lose me. Even more scarring, I lost me. My stroke was only supposed to massacre me physically, but somehow, it also devastated me socially, academically and emotionally. I don't even recognize myself, and I'm not just talking about just a reflection in the mirror. I was an outgoing intellectual (aka nerd) with an infectious smile and an annoyingly happy heart. Now, I'm a shy, insecure cripple, with a "life" that has sad written all over it. The old me is now just..somebody that i used to know. People used to love me and respect me. Now they "love" me, and, pity me. I totally, totally understand feeling bad for me, hell, I even feel bad for me. But I want people to be in my life not because they feel bad for me, but because they want ME. There are people who aren't in my life, who damn well should be in my life, but it balances out, because there are people in my life who are dam well incredible. But, I'm not sure if I'm that great company. Let me explain, I've forgotten how to be a friend. Because I was locked inside my head for so long, unable to speak or interact with anyone, I'm, we'll, out of practice. I'm so used to being by myself, entertained with my own fascinating internal monologue, I often forget to participate in conversations. Im so involved in my own world, it makes me kind of...selfish. My newly discovered insecurities get the best of me sometimes, leaving behind awkward silences. I dont want to sound like a broken record, but people don't necessarily understand me, so that disrupts any kind of rapport and keeps me from sharing my thoughts, deciding what I have to say isn't worth the effort. On top of all of this, I don't know how to let my friends be my friends, how to let them be there for me. I know none of my friends can really relate to most of my problems and worries, they just make them feel guilty and uncomfortable, which leaves me embarrassed, and definitely not comforted. It is weird keeping 99% of your thoughts away from your friends. It makes me feel so distant, so different. My five year college reunion is coming up, and I'm obviously not going. But, not even for a second have I felt like I will be missing out, like I'm not even connected to it all anymore. Maybe it's because I know the alternative, going, would be an unbearably humiliating, painful experience. Great friends, crazy parties, unforgettable memories - that is a little slice of heaven for the old me, not now. I'm just a mere shadow of who I used to be, not even a reflection, just an outline, an echo, a memory. My stroke ripped away from me everything from my dignity to my personality. Someone told me the other day that I had the "best smile." I guess that's the only thing my stroke left me. My smile and my memories are what's keeping me together, getting me through every interaction, pushing forward to tomorrow. Well, one more thing helps me along - the one good thing my stroke gave me... Determination. Drive. Resolve. Ferocity. You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness, or you can find something in it that makes you fly... Watch me fly.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
The sky is the limit
I want to share a story with you all about one of my firsts: the first time I wanted to slap a doctor. Now dont get me wrong, I love and respect them just as much as the next person, probably more, considering that I was so enamored by the profession that I wanted to become one (and still do). But I think my high regard for doctors has set me up for bitter disappointments. The first time I felt this way was the morning of my stroke. I was at my ophthalmologist's office getting my "opthalmic migraines" checked out. As I was waiting for the doctor in an exam room, all of a sudden, the room started spinning, VIOLENTLY. I was incredibly dizzy and horribly nauseous. I tried to stand up, but could only make to the sink. A new doctor came in and saw me leaning over the sink, gripping it for dear life. He said smugly, "I see you must have had some fun last night."
Me: (unable to look up from the sink) "I just watched a movie with my parents"
Doc: "Yea but I'm sure you had a few drinks
Me: (kinda annoyed) "nope"
Doc: "Maybe wine with dinner?"
Me: (between vomits) "No!"
I would come to find out later that I WAS HAVING A FREAKING STROKE, which caused the vertigo.I wanted to go back in time and slap him... Ok, who am I kidding?! I am a raging pacifist (what up Mahatma), so, instead, I'm boycotting his institution. Now I've met with A LOT of doctors the past few years. Some have been nothing short of incredible, and I owe them my life and my hope. But some of them,well, let's just say I owe them a hell of a lot of my tears, and a few slaps. Most of my doctors haven't seen anyone like me. What happened to me is infinitely rare. Most doctors just go with the flow, admit the holes in their knowledge, and do their utmost to help me. But some are, I guess, intimidated by my condition, as if my mere existence was a silent challenge to their knowledge, so automatically I knew/felt they weren't on my side. Some doctors are so afraid to say the three little words that are probably true half the time : I don't know. Even though those words are so frustrating for patients to hear, they know they are being given the truth, and not just BS from a doctor trying to maintain his all-knowing aura. I feel like the best doctors I have met are the ones who aren't afraid to show their vulnerabilities. " I don't know, let do some research" goes a lot, a lot farther than an " Im sorry, I can't help you." But I feel bad for all the doctors, because the science of my condition is the most difficult and evasive part. Why did this happen to me? What caused this? What can I do to recover? What therapies will help? The answer to all my questions is undeniably, I don't know, not because of the doctors but because there is barely any scientific information out there about my condition. So, what happens when you lose faith in religion AND science? I guess without any religious or scientific rules about my condition or my future my fate is kind of, free. I can write my own destiny, make my own luck. The sky is the limit.
Me: (unable to look up from the sink) "I just watched a movie with my parents"
Doc: "Yea but I'm sure you had a few drinks
Me: (kinda annoyed) "nope"
Doc: "Maybe wine with dinner?"
Me: (between vomits) "No!"
I would come to find out later that I WAS HAVING A FREAKING STROKE, which caused the vertigo.I wanted to go back in time and slap him... Ok, who am I kidding?! I am a raging pacifist (what up Mahatma), so, instead, I'm boycotting his institution. Now I've met with A LOT of doctors the past few years. Some have been nothing short of incredible, and I owe them my life and my hope. But some of them,well, let's just say I owe them a hell of a lot of my tears, and a few slaps. Most of my doctors haven't seen anyone like me. What happened to me is infinitely rare. Most doctors just go with the flow, admit the holes in their knowledge, and do their utmost to help me. But some are, I guess, intimidated by my condition, as if my mere existence was a silent challenge to their knowledge, so automatically I knew/felt they weren't on my side. Some doctors are so afraid to say the three little words that are probably true half the time : I don't know. Even though those words are so frustrating for patients to hear, they know they are being given the truth, and not just BS from a doctor trying to maintain his all-knowing aura. I feel like the best doctors I have met are the ones who aren't afraid to show their vulnerabilities. " I don't know, let do some research" goes a lot, a lot farther than an " Im sorry, I can't help you." But I feel bad for all the doctors, because the science of my condition is the most difficult and evasive part. Why did this happen to me? What caused this? What can I do to recover? What therapies will help? The answer to all my questions is undeniably, I don't know, not because of the doctors but because there is barely any scientific information out there about my condition. So, what happens when you lose faith in religion AND science? I guess without any religious or scientific rules about my condition or my future my fate is kind of, free. I can write my own destiny, make my own luck. The sky is the limit.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
One sweet day
"They say the two most important days in a person's life is the day you're born, and the day you discover why you're born." - Viola Davis
The day I was born - December 13, 1984 and the day I discovered why - November 29, 2008 - the day of my stoke. It was a horrible day, a tragic day, a devastating day, a day where I lost everything, but, I know, sadly, that one, singłe day will forevèr define who I am, and who I will be. As a result of that day, however awful it was, I now know why I'm here and what I can bring to this mad world. Sharing my story, my fight, my pain is what will make me one insanely experienced and sympathetic doctor or an honest and passionate writer. Its kind of freeing to know, without any shàde of doubt, what exactly you are meant to do. Think about it, I can say the most cliche line to a patient, 'I know how you feel', and ACTUALLY mean it. I'll have automatic 'street cred' and the war scars to prove it. Now, just because I see the possible value of my experience, it does not discount AT ALL the fact that I would give anything, my heart, my soul, my life, not to have this experience at all... I wish it all away every night, but face it all again every morning, with a little more disppointment, a little more fear, and a little more hatred than the day before. But, maybe, from my pain, someone will find peace. From my fears, someone could gain perspective. From my hate, someone could find inspiration. From my fight, someone could find strength. But. I refuse to be a martyr, to sacrifice everything I am, everything I have, everything I want, to lead a life of suffering, so others may gain something from my experience. That's a bit too selfless, even for me. I deserve to be a little more narcissistic, and less masochistic. So, I'm waiting for a third day, and boy, will it be one sweet, sweet day. For me, if this third day doesn't happen, the first two days won't even be worth it. This third day, will be the day I beat this thing, the day I regain some semblance of my life, the day this whole, horrible nightmare is behind me, the day I win. But with every frustrating second, every disappointing year, every painful nightmare, this days seems to be slipping farther and farther away, out of my grasp, out of my reach, out of my sight. Though my sweat drops during the day are full of fight, my teardrops at night are full of hopelessness. I realize this may be out of my hàndß, no matter how hard I try. Then, whose hands is it in??? Tim Tebow, obvi. ( JK! But i do <3 him). But like Tebow, I believe in that "hopeless comeback".(Good Read)
When there's nothing going right for you an your team, when everything seems hopeless, when you feel like your fighting for a lost cause, something happens, and you win. Whether that something is divine intervention, positive, strong beliefs from you and your team, or just dumb luck, that something is magical. So here goes nothing. With a hail mary pass, a trick play, Jesus, Allah, Ram, or just some luck, me and my team (what up Rajanis!), will win.
The day I was born - December 13, 1984 and the day I discovered why - November 29, 2008 - the day of my stoke. It was a horrible day, a tragic day, a devastating day, a day where I lost everything, but, I know, sadly, that one, singłe day will forevèr define who I am, and who I will be. As a result of that day, however awful it was, I now know why I'm here and what I can bring to this mad world. Sharing my story, my fight, my pain is what will make me one insanely experienced and sympathetic doctor or an honest and passionate writer. Its kind of freeing to know, without any shàde of doubt, what exactly you are meant to do. Think about it, I can say the most cliche line to a patient, 'I know how you feel', and ACTUALLY mean it. I'll have automatic 'street cred' and the war scars to prove it. Now, just because I see the possible value of my experience, it does not discount AT ALL the fact that I would give anything, my heart, my soul, my life, not to have this experience at all... I wish it all away every night, but face it all again every morning, with a little more disppointment, a little more fear, and a little more hatred than the day before. But, maybe, from my pain, someone will find peace. From my fears, someone could gain perspective. From my hate, someone could find inspiration. From my fight, someone could find strength. But. I refuse to be a martyr, to sacrifice everything I am, everything I have, everything I want, to lead a life of suffering, so others may gain something from my experience. That's a bit too selfless, even for me. I deserve to be a little more narcissistic, and less masochistic. So, I'm waiting for a third day, and boy, will it be one sweet, sweet day. For me, if this third day doesn't happen, the first two days won't even be worth it. This third day, will be the day I beat this thing, the day I regain some semblance of my life, the day this whole, horrible nightmare is behind me, the day I win. But with every frustrating second, every disappointing year, every painful nightmare, this days seems to be slipping farther and farther away, out of my grasp, out of my reach, out of my sight. Though my sweat drops during the day are full of fight, my teardrops at night are full of hopelessness. I realize this may be out of my hàndß, no matter how hard I try. Then, whose hands is it in??? Tim Tebow, obvi. ( JK! But i do <3 him). But like Tebow, I believe in that "hopeless comeback".(Good Read)
When there's nothing going right for you an your team, when everything seems hopeless, when you feel like your fighting for a lost cause, something happens, and you win. Whether that something is divine intervention, positive, strong beliefs from you and your team, or just dumb luck, that something is magical. So here goes nothing. With a hail mary pass, a trick play, Jesus, Allah, Ram, or just some luck, me and my team (what up Rajanis!), will win.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Skyscraper
The other day, a few of my good friends from Charlotte were hanging out with me. They were getting ready to leave and I said "Thank you for coming!" in an appreciative yet robotic-like fashion. One of my friends started laughing and replied, "Why the formality?! It's still us." I knew he was right, they had been over hundreds of times before my stroke, and they would be over hundreds of times after it. It was still them, yes, but... Was it still...me? I have been dragged through dirt, mud, garbage, and hell the past three years. I have felt hopeless, helpless, meaningless, powerless, and useless, after living 23 years that were utterly and completely full. In a split second, I went from cloud nine to rock bottom. What. A. Fall. I went from smiling all day long, for quite literally no apparent reason, to being completely unable to smile physically, to being unable to smile emotionally, to finally being pretty apathetic to the whole smiling thing. And it's not like one tragedy in your life makes you invincible, untouchable to more tragedy. Nope. I have been beaten down so much by the world, whats left of me? Has it all changed me?
Three years ago, I had an ugly stroke of reality. The world I had once believed in, the world that I thought beautiful, and just, the world that I even wanted to save, had revealed to me it's cruel power - it didn't need saving, I did... Then, I went through an ugly breakup. I always used to see the good in others - it was probably my greatest gift, and my most tragic flaw. I didn't do this knowingly, but now, looking back, through my slightly more critical lens, I realize I did only see the best in others. I realize now that people can seem so good on the outside, but capable of being so bad on the inside. I've decided to instead, trust in my dog's opinion of others, because I dont trust my own. One bark = like, two barks = dislike. He pretty much barks 50 times at everyone, so our system still needs work. Or it just means that he loves everyone (like mother, like son)... And all the while, I've been going through this ugly rehab process. Before all of this, I was enamored by the medical world, the science, the knowledge, the service, etc. but being a patient now, I've felt how much we dont know at all about the human body. Ive heard the phrase 'I don't know' more times than i can count. I think I've been disillusioned and disappointed by everything..But then I read this: "Sweetheart - this pic's for you babe. Just to remind you of my smile - how you make me smile. How even if you're so far away - I smile when I think of you 'cuz you're truly my angel. The one who I NEED to see at least once a year or I'll lose my mind. People like you rarely exist babe and I'm so so blessed by your presence. I'm humbled by your unselfishness, your sweet personality, your unwavering support, and your unconstitutional love. I <3 u forever." That was a message written to me by Rajul, on the back of her senior picture, that she gave to me TEN YEARS AGO. But its EXACTLY something she would say to me now! I think that means I'm still me (and Rajul can still write so beautifully, it makes me melt). Yes, my skin is thicker, my mind is wiser, m blood is...thinner? (daily baby aspirin, baby), and my heart is careful, yet my soul is, thankfully, forever unchanged. So i guess I've grown, not changed. Sorry world/fate/destiny, I know you tried really hard, but I guess I'm still the same ol' G... You can take everything I am, you can break everything I have, like I'm made of glass, like I'm made of paper..... Go on and try to tear me down, I will be rising from the ground, just like a skyscraper...just like a skyscraper.
Three years ago, I had an ugly stroke of reality. The world I had once believed in, the world that I thought beautiful, and just, the world that I even wanted to save, had revealed to me it's cruel power - it didn't need saving, I did... Then, I went through an ugly breakup. I always used to see the good in others - it was probably my greatest gift, and my most tragic flaw. I didn't do this knowingly, but now, looking back, through my slightly more critical lens, I realize I did only see the best in others. I realize now that people can seem so good on the outside, but capable of being so bad on the inside. I've decided to instead, trust in my dog's opinion of others, because I dont trust my own. One bark = like, two barks = dislike. He pretty much barks 50 times at everyone, so our system still needs work. Or it just means that he loves everyone (like mother, like son)... And all the while, I've been going through this ugly rehab process. Before all of this, I was enamored by the medical world, the science, the knowledge, the service, etc. but being a patient now, I've felt how much we dont know at all about the human body. Ive heard the phrase 'I don't know' more times than i can count. I think I've been disillusioned and disappointed by everything..But then I read this: "Sweetheart - this pic's for you babe. Just to remind you of my smile - how you make me smile. How even if you're so far away - I smile when I think of you 'cuz you're truly my angel. The one who I NEED to see at least once a year or I'll lose my mind. People like you rarely exist babe and I'm so so blessed by your presence. I'm humbled by your unselfishness, your sweet personality, your unwavering support, and your unconstitutional love. I <3 u forever." That was a message written to me by Rajul, on the back of her senior picture, that she gave to me TEN YEARS AGO. But its EXACTLY something she would say to me now! I think that means I'm still me (and Rajul can still write so beautifully, it makes me melt). Yes, my skin is thicker, my mind is wiser, m blood is...thinner? (daily baby aspirin, baby), and my heart is careful, yet my soul is, thankfully, forever unchanged. So i guess I've grown, not changed. Sorry world/fate/destiny, I know you tried really hard, but I guess I'm still the same ol' G... You can take everything I am, you can break everything I have, like I'm made of glass, like I'm made of paper..... Go on and try to tear me down, I will be rising from the ground, just like a skyscraper...just like a skyscraper.
Friday, November 4, 2011
This is why I'm hot
I really hate how inherently selfish the whole rehab process is... Think about it... Millions of hours, millions of therapists, millions of dollars, millions, no billions, of miles on the road from therapy to therapy, and millions of prayers from everyone, all for what?¡ All to get one person a little, tiny bit better. Hours upon hours are spent on this person, from doctors, nurses, therapists, trainers, family and friends. But to thrive, or survive, in this rehab process, you really have to milk all of this. You have to become, well, selfish. You have to fancy yourself important enough to deserve it ALL, otherwise you will go insane. And I'm trying! I'm going hard in this rehab process with a single, arguably selfish, goal in mind. But, I'm not so good at this whole 'being selfish' thing... Like, I love the attention I'm getting from friends and everyone, but then I remember why I'm getting the attention, and then I start to hate it. When my mom used to tell me that people were praying for me at the temple, I appreciated the sentiment, but absolutely hated the attention, especially the reason for the attention. I'm not good at solely thinking of myself and my needs, I'm good at thinking of other people's needs. Before all this, I had the luxury of being utterly selfless. It was really nice, and though it felt natural at the time, I realize now that it was a luxury. Service was my life - sometimes literally (just ask Megan!), but I was proud of it, so proud. I cared about the kids I worked with more than I did myself... I know that sounds silly, but it was true. I may have given them my love and support, but they gave me a wonderful purpose. From my college essay, medical school essay, to various speeches, one line has been the same. A quote by Mahatma Gandhi, "In a gentle way, we can shake the world." I wanted to save the world... But as Lamar Odom said on Keeping Up With The Kardashians, "Wanna make God laugh? Tell him you plans." Yea, my plans definitely made him laugh, and he threw me a hell of a curveball. Then, about a year ago, a doctor approached me after therapy, and told me she had a patient who was a 19 year old girl who just had a stroke and was really upset. She asked if I could stop in and talk to her. I was overwhelmed and unprepared, but so anxious to help. I immediately went to hr room, but I had no idea what to say... I knew she must feel so alone, so I told her my story. I knew she must feel so freaking scared, so I told her the one line that made me believe, "Everything gets better from here." The whole room was in tears, including me and her. I came to check on her two weeks later, and she was doing so much better, it was so exciting, she looked so happy. Her doctor told my dad that it was either something I said or a coincidence, but she started improving after I talked to her! What!! I felt something at that moment, something great, something I hadn't felt in so long...needed...instead of hopelessly, embarrassingly, desperately needy.... It was so freeing, to forget my needs, and focus on someone else. Over the last few months, I've been getting emails from friends and strangers saying that my story and blog have helped them in some way. I don't know what I'm doing or saying, but I figure I'm doing something right. Because of everything that has happened, I have a voice, and people are listening. And sometimes I'm actually helping people other than myself. So now, I think I have an even more wonderful purpose. Basically, I'm hot cuz I'm fly, you ain't cuz you not. Jk! You are all fly, it's just that ibe2fly4u ;). So maybe I can still save the world, or at least shake it a little...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Killing me softly
So, I don't look like the person I was before... Emotionally, I'm pretty similar except now with a 'Sasha Fierce' side to me and sometimes a "No me jodas" type attitude. But physically..where do I begin?! I mean I look like me, but I look a bit...off. When I say I was paralyzed from head to toe, I mean literally from head to toe. My forehead, my cheeks, my lips, my tongue, my throat, my trunk, my limbs, EVERYTHING. I could only blink my eyes which sounds like such a tiny thing but it probably saved my life because without the blinking, everyone would have thought I was brain dead. Now, all my muscles have come back, but not quite right. Some are weak, some are slow, and some are just confused. This all makes for one awkward looking girl. First off, my legs aren't strong enough yet, so I'm confined to a wheelchair. But surprisingly, that is the least of my aesthetic problems. I have a 6th nerve palsy of my left eye so I can't really move my eye left; and my eyes aren't aligned exactly, so I look like I have a lazy eye all the time. My facial muscles, my neck muscles and my trunk muscles are still weak, so my face looks weird, my neck droops to the side, and I slouch. My arms lie limp in my lap, and I have a few visible scars. Worst of all, what alienates me the most is that I can't speak properly. Little kids stare at me like I'm a monster. If I try to talk to them, they literally run away. It kills me. When I try to go out in public, people say things to me or about me that make me want to vomit or just die. It kills me. Just the other day, my dentist said to my dad right in front of me, "She looks good today! She looks alert!" just like that, even though she meant well, she killed me. With just a few words, I felt like I was stabbed in the stomach. Before my stroke, I was strong and confident enough to handle anything, but now just a few words or a few stares can make me self combust. Don't get me wrong, I have optimism, I have positivity, and most importantly, I have hope, but it is SO fragile, its like a house of cards, one blow from caving in... When people see me, they see I'm completely broken on the outside, and then assume I must be broken on the inside too. If only the whole world would just read my blog ;) then they would realize my brain is in fact, far from being broken. But theres one person who, in his eyes, I am complete. He doesn't even notice my flaws, if anything, he sees them as assets. His unconditional love is exactly what I need to bring me back to reality, to bring me back from the dead. I'm talking about none other than my puppy, Duke :) I know it sounds silly, to rely on a dog so much, but honestly, whatever works! And it does really work. I cant really talk, so I never have to discipline him. I can't really use my legs, so i cant take him on walks (laziest puppy ever, he hates walks). I can't really use my arms, so I don't ever put him in the crate he hates. I'm a sloppy eater, so he loves sitting in my lap and discovering hidden crumbs on me. I cry a lot, and he LOVES licking my tears, and I need his distraction. Riding in my lap on my wheelchair is like a roller coaster for him so he doesn't let me go anywhere without him. That boy would follow me off a cliff if that's where I was headed. So it works! For now, he is enough to pick me up when I fall, but I fear the day that won't be enough anymore...
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Allah ke Bande
http://chuppandee.blogspot.com/2009/06/allah-ke-bande-translation.html
Karma is an interesting thing... Of all My beliefs in Hinduism, it was the one that made the most sense, that made the other beliefs have some meaningful context (like dharma, reincarnation, etc). You could say it kinda held everything together for me. Karma is the concept that events happen in your life, whether good or bad, based on your previous actions or deeds. Makes total sense right?! It makes you feel that there is some cosmic justice in the world. It's even backed up by the laws of physics, which you know made my science-ey brain happy! 'every action causes an equal and opposite reaction.' karma is the closest thing any religion had to fact. I mean c'mon, how else do you explain LeBron James with his insanely talented Miami Heat losing the championship bitterly to the underdogs? Karma. But then I had my stroke, and all my beliefs and facts, became a lie. While I've made mistakes in life, I don't think any of them deserved even a week of this hell. Many people believe this is all because of karma and that I'm paying for something from a past life. Umm, ok... What do you say to that? Anyway, so by past life, they are implying reincarnation - which is, after death, your soul comes back to life in another life form. Now, I'm going to tell you all something...you will probably think I'm crazy, but I think I've seen my soul. Not just a peak, but a long, never-ending stare. Let me explain. When I had my stroke and woke up in the ICU, I had a horrible, horrible epiphany - I had lost everything. Everything. My whole body, my voice, my mind, my family, my friends, my life, my career, my everything. All I had left was my soul...everything else ha been stripped, and all that was left was what made me, me. And what I saw was a scared, sweet, innocent soul, untainted by vindictiveness or revenge. If this was the same soul inhabiting past lives, I highly doubt it could be capable of doing anything that would deserve this kind of hell.like say I was a lion in my past life, I would totally be like Simba from 'The Lion King' and sing and dance all day instead of fighting and killing. So, karma, why aren't you true?!?! I need you to be true. I need to get completely better for any of this to make sense, for there to be some kind of balance in this world. I think we all need that balance to get through the terrible things in life... I've always loved this song 'Allah kè Bande' but only recently looked at the words. It's about angel who truly learns to fly, only after he loses his everything, his wings. It says, 'it is only in the scattered pieces of your dreams that you will find the meaning of Allah's will.' Wow, so lost my everything...check, dreams scattered...check! so maybe I will find meaning in all this...and truly learn to fly.
Karma is an interesting thing... Of all My beliefs in Hinduism, it was the one that made the most sense, that made the other beliefs have some meaningful context (like dharma, reincarnation, etc). You could say it kinda held everything together for me. Karma is the concept that events happen in your life, whether good or bad, based on your previous actions or deeds. Makes total sense right?! It makes you feel that there is some cosmic justice in the world. It's even backed up by the laws of physics, which you know made my science-ey brain happy! 'every action causes an equal and opposite reaction.' karma is the closest thing any religion had to fact. I mean c'mon, how else do you explain LeBron James with his insanely talented Miami Heat losing the championship bitterly to the underdogs? Karma. But then I had my stroke, and all my beliefs and facts, became a lie. While I've made mistakes in life, I don't think any of them deserved even a week of this hell. Many people believe this is all because of karma and that I'm paying for something from a past life. Umm, ok... What do you say to that? Anyway, so by past life, they are implying reincarnation - which is, after death, your soul comes back to life in another life form. Now, I'm going to tell you all something...you will probably think I'm crazy, but I think I've seen my soul. Not just a peak, but a long, never-ending stare. Let me explain. When I had my stroke and woke up in the ICU, I had a horrible, horrible epiphany - I had lost everything. Everything. My whole body, my voice, my mind, my family, my friends, my life, my career, my everything. All I had left was my soul...everything else ha been stripped, and all that was left was what made me, me. And what I saw was a scared, sweet, innocent soul, untainted by vindictiveness or revenge. If this was the same soul inhabiting past lives, I highly doubt it could be capable of doing anything that would deserve this kind of hell.like say I was a lion in my past life, I would totally be like Simba from 'The Lion King' and sing and dance all day instead of fighting and killing. So, karma, why aren't you true?!?! I need you to be true. I need to get completely better for any of this to make sense, for there to be some kind of balance in this world. I think we all need that balance to get through the terrible things in life... I've always loved this song 'Allah kè Bande' but only recently looked at the words. It's about angel who truly learns to fly, only after he loses his everything, his wings. It says, 'it is only in the scattered pieces of your dreams that you will find the meaning of Allah's will.' Wow, so lost my everything...check, dreams scattered...check! so maybe I will find meaning in all this...and truly learn to fly.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Time after time
Time after time-Javier colon
I'm scared...terrifed...lost...cconfused...nervous...and worried, really worried, about something everyone worries about, but, argueably, I have a lot more at stake...I am scared about my future. After many doctors told me I would eventually get better,my burning question was “When?” All of them would say the same thing, time after time, “I don’t know, it will take time.” That answer infuriated me, but at the same time I felt that this answer was protecting me. I so badly wanted an answer to that one question that was drowning me, but I was scared to hear an answer I didn’t like. I was scared they would tell me 20 or 30 years or maybe they would say 3 or 4 years, I didn’t have any idea, I still don’t know. So I started to hang on to every time limit my family members would say in passing. First, it was 6 months. I thought I can do 6 months.. I really believed I would be better in 6 months, believed it with all my heart, even though after 5 months, my muscles were barely working, I was still believing some divine intervention or miracle would come and fix me before 6 months. But it didn't, and I was crushed. My hope, my world, my universe came crashing down with a vengeance and took my spirit along with it. But I woke up the next morning, gathered myself, and started all over again, all my hope back at ground zero, ready to be built back up again...only to come crashing down again in 6 more months, and every mîlestone after that until I woke up this morning and realized it had been 2.5 years. And still no miracle. Time after time, I am disappointed..How much freaking 'time' does my body need!?!? I thought maybe I could find some answers online... Big mistake. All I found were details on other young stroke survivors who didnt have half as much damage as me and were perfectly fine in a few months or details on other locked-in syndrome patients who were dead in a few months. It has been 30 months and I'm far from being 'perfectly fine' or dead... So what the hell?!?! Had I run out of time to be fine again or am I just a breath away from death? So many awful questions about my future. I want my future to be happy, I want to fall in love, I want to get married, I want to have kids and raise a family, I want to become a doctor, i just want to be happy. They are such simple dreams, but right now, they feel impossible, like they are on another planet, in another universe. Is life even worth living if you can't pursue these basic dreams? I've totally missed out on life enough already! I'm in my 20's, the prime of my life. I should be out with my friends, partying and dancing; instead I'm always at home, drowning in a pool of constant humiliation, loneliness, and fear. Time after time, day after day, nightmare after nightmare, I always, always fear my future. Most of the time, I try to focus on the present, and keep fighting, but it's always at the back of my mind, silently eating away at my spirit. So I desperately want an answer to the question "When?!" but I only want to hear an answer I like and I'm terrified to hear an answer that will demolish my dreams for the future. So will my future hold my dreams or my nightmares, will it hold good luck or bad luck? You know what, eff that, I'll make my own luck.
I'm scared...terrifed...lost...cconfused...nervous...and worried, really worried, about something everyone worries about, but, argueably, I have a lot more at stake...I am scared about my future. After many doctors told me I would eventually get better,my burning question was “When?” All of them would say the same thing, time after time, “I don’t know, it will take time.” That answer infuriated me, but at the same time I felt that this answer was protecting me. I so badly wanted an answer to that one question that was drowning me, but I was scared to hear an answer I didn’t like. I was scared they would tell me 20 or 30 years or maybe they would say 3 or 4 years, I didn’t have any idea, I still don’t know. So I started to hang on to every time limit my family members would say in passing. First, it was 6 months. I thought I can do 6 months.. I really believed I would be better in 6 months, believed it with all my heart, even though after 5 months, my muscles were barely working, I was still believing some divine intervention or miracle would come and fix me before 6 months. But it didn't, and I was crushed. My hope, my world, my universe came crashing down with a vengeance and took my spirit along with it. But I woke up the next morning, gathered myself, and started all over again, all my hope back at ground zero, ready to be built back up again...only to come crashing down again in 6 more months, and every mîlestone after that until I woke up this morning and realized it had been 2.5 years. And still no miracle. Time after time, I am disappointed..How much freaking 'time' does my body need!?!? I thought maybe I could find some answers online... Big mistake. All I found were details on other young stroke survivors who didnt have half as much damage as me and were perfectly fine in a few months or details on other locked-in syndrome patients who were dead in a few months. It has been 30 months and I'm far from being 'perfectly fine' or dead... So what the hell?!?! Had I run out of time to be fine again or am I just a breath away from death? So many awful questions about my future. I want my future to be happy, I want to fall in love, I want to get married, I want to have kids and raise a family, I want to become a doctor, i just want to be happy. They are such simple dreams, but right now, they feel impossible, like they are on another planet, in another universe. Is life even worth living if you can't pursue these basic dreams? I've totally missed out on life enough already! I'm in my 20's, the prime of my life. I should be out with my friends, partying and dancing; instead I'm always at home, drowning in a pool of constant humiliation, loneliness, and fear. Time after time, day after day, nightmare after nightmare, I always, always fear my future. Most of the time, I try to focus on the present, and keep fighting, but it's always at the back of my mind, silently eating away at my spirit. So I desperately want an answer to the question "When?!" but I only want to hear an answer I like and I'm terrified to hear an answer that will demolish my dreams for the future. So will my future hold my dreams or my nightmares, will it hold good luck or bad luck? You know what, eff that, I'll make my own luck.
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