Today, my mood was heavier than usual. I woke up feeling a gnawing fatigue. The antidepressants I took seemed to offer no help. My sleep remained restless and unrefreshing.
I was jolted awake by a loud bang on my wall and the roar of a cutting machine in my yard. Yes, my neighbors were renovating their houses. I don't understand why they had to do it simultaneously. My house, sandwiched between them, is bearing the brunt of it.
My sensitive ears can no longer compromise; they can't endure it all. Especially with my mind and heart already in a fragile state. Weak! That's probably what people think when they see me struggling to get up.
I forced myself to leave the house today, my body weak, my eyes still reluctant to open. Like an addict struggling with their addiction, I wandered aimlessly, just wanting to escape reality.
The rumbling in my stomach led me to my usual restaurant—to be precise, it was the only place that came to mind. I slowly walked in, staring at the menu displayed above the cashier's counter.
"Can I order now?"
Today, I wanted to order something different.
"I'd like to order squid rice, fish cakes, and lemon tea," I stated my order.
I wanted my day to be a little special. Squid is my favorite food. My mother often cooked it for me. Although today's menu is vastly different, it doesn't matter.
My life has been quite heavy lately. It feels like God doesn't approve of my plans. Time and again, everything deviates from the path. It makes me question the life I'm living.
Two years ago, I planned to take a break from my hectic life, a life that was rapidly consuming my time and soul. I just wanted to rest and try to forge a new career path.
"Who allowed you to rest?" That's probably what God is telling me.
My mother had to be hospitalized three times! Three times! I had to put everything aside and focus on her recovery.
Last year, I felt this might be my time. I could restart the plans I'd made. Again, God seemed unwilling to allow it. The marriage I built over nine years crumbled overnight.
That destruction also devastated my soul. My self-esteem shattered. My wings were broken, crushed. God must have felt that wasn't enough. My father fell ill. Once again, I set aside my pain for my father's recovery.
This year, I'm trying to rise slowly. I'm embracing and holding my wounds tight, trying to feel the pain I've been ignoring. Maybe God will allow me to pursue my plans. But once again, God has other plans.
My father fell ill again. It feels like my head has been hit hard, my shoulders are heavy, and my breath is ragged. Does God really disapprove of my plans that much?
I looked around while waiting for my food, which was taking forever. Half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of my food. Meanwhile, the table across from me received their food first, even though I ordered earlier.
Today, I planned to end my life. I chose my favorite food as my last meal, to leave without regrets. Again, God did not approve of my plan.
The restaurant wasn't very busy today. I observed the waiters bustling around, delivering food. The cooks were busy preparing meals in the kitchen. And a little child was crying because their food hadn't arrived yet.
Everyone seemed so busy with their lives. They surely also hide wounds and traumas, perhaps even bigger and heavier than mine. Yet, they are still persevering.
My food finally arrived. Unfortunately, nothing was served warm. Maybe waiting too long made it cold.
"Maybe not today. My last meal shouldn't be this bad!"
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