Theloopylululog

As I type this, I am awaiting a call from my sister. She is with my father, getting my mom admitted to the hospital for edema and excessive fluid retention.

I received the verdict last evening from her doc. Was I prepared? No. Is anyone, really?

She has not been keeping well since COVID left her ravaged. With all her comorbidities, it has been a game of one thing after another this whole decade.

Yet, the news of having to admit her came as a mild shock. I have held it together for a long time now, keeping a safely detached distance from making it a drama. But as I was having my dinner with my parents on the table and me on the floor, for a second I snatched a look at them and was crushed by overwhelming emotions.

Was it sadness? Or fear of a devastating loss I imagine I should be ready for but never will be? Was it something else?

I sat there in silence, staring at my roti and dal, tears welling, ready to burst the dam.

First I gave in to the emotions. I don’t mean I cried or bawled my eyes out; I let them pass. They came up, had their moment, and quietly left, leaving me with the strength to plan for today. Then I finished my dinner, cleared the kitchen, prepped for today’s menu, and went to bed.

I needed a good night’s sleep—whatever I could manage. Sleep doesn’t magically cure illness or the fear that lingers in caretakers’ hearts, but it is a calming respite from the chaos, resetting the body to take on whatever comes next.

I woke up to get going with whatever needed to be done throughout the day: food to be prepared for siblings who were on their way home, food for my mom to be sent to the hospital, chores that don’t take leave just because we are otherwise engaged.

In short, I did what I do best—what I have learned to do when things get too hard to decipher: put my head down and handle the things that I can.

My default mode is one that is filled with anxiety. In my youth, I took that anxiety and ran a marathon with it, creating chaos within me when the outer world was in even greater mess.

But with time came experiences that forced me to build myself into a fortress. The anxiety is still the first one to show up when the going gets tough. But I always get going at times like those. Instead of waging a war with my own mind and my emotions, I let them have a meeting, giving them a safe space to be seen, to be felt. Like clouds, they come, they go.

That’s the best thing about emotions: they don’t last long. They leave me with a clear mind, ready to take on the world.

I am never ashamed of going weak in the knees when hard times hit me. That’s what makes me human. The best thing about me now is that I overcome them and get down to serious business.

When I go weak, I seek help in what is therapeutic to me, tea being the first friend. It doesn’t ask me to do anything; it just stays in my favorite cup, warm and cozy—with every sip disappearing into my body, illuminating me with a light that I know I possess but have momentarily forgotten. It’s a friend that sacrifices itself every day without conditions, leaving me with enough resilience to face life and its quirks.

Maybe it’s just an excuse to take a moment and gather my falling pieces into one organic whole. Whatever it is, it works for me.

The second is music. Earlier, it would play outside me, all my favorites lined up in a playlist, Rafi being the one who knows me like the back of his own hand. Nowadays, it’s just me and my humming, or the silence within me that is a soothing companion, creating an ambience that allows me to plan my life according to whatever is staring at me.

Disease, depression, heartbreak, loneliness, financial stress: everything showed up as if they were answering a roll call in school. I dealt with them all as I have been learning to do: quietly from a detached distance, without becoming a part of the storm myself.

I am damn good at being the silent spectator of chaos and managing things in my corner. Give me the backend of any chaotic event, I will set it right, and once the backend is safe and running smoothly, the frontend naturally falls into its rhythm.

My mom has finally been admitted. My darling sister and dad took care of the finances while I managed whatever needed managing at home. The youngest, my brother, needed some ranting and some much-needed venting. While he did that, I made sure he was well fed and well hydrated. There is always tea in my home to take care of frayed nerves and sleepless, jet-lagged siblings.

What I did today is what I have been doing ever since I adopted a lifestyle with everyday meditation and exercise. I relieve myself of my anxiety on the mat, and my consistent, disciplined efforts on the mat take care of me outside of it, especially when things go out of hand, leaving me with that feeling we avoid at all costs—helplessness.

Was I born like this? I wish. I trained for it. Hard.

There’s a lot of life ready to live through me, and this training is what I will rely on to take care of me when challenges show up—and they always do.

I might not be prepared for hard times… really, who sits around in anticipation of hard times? But I know I will take care of myself with a little help from tea, music, and meditation.

For everything else, there is my exercise mat to rant, rave, vent, rage, and just roll into a ball of tears and fears. Whatever the mat cannot solve, God will.

For a detailed report card version of a similar post where I answer how I handle hard times head on to the link. I promise you, it’s fun!

Hello! Who’s there? Hard Times. It’s OK, I’ll just climb a guava tree!