They’re small, but they throb.
The kind of quiet, persistent pain you can’t ignore.
After such a long time without breakouts, their sudden appearance feels… strange. I catch myself wondering, was it the mask I’ve been wearing these past few days while staying with my mom at the hospital? Or because I no longer have the bandwidth to even do my skincare? Or maybe, this is my body trying to say something, at a time when my mind has been too busy to listen.
Because the truth is, I haven’t really stopped.
Not to think.
Not to feel.
Not even to breathe, properly.
And somehow, these two small pimples feel like a pause I didn’t ask for, but maybe needed.
A moment that gently asks:
What is actually happening in your life right now?
-----
Both of my parents are seriously ill.
At the same time.
My dad needs to have one of his kidneys removed because of a large tumor attached to it.
My mom was just diagnosed with a brainstem stroke, affecting her vision and balance, forcing her to step away from all the teaching activities she loves.
BPJS has helped a lot, and I’m deeply grateful.
But the effort behind everything else… is heavy.
A shared hospital room with three patients.
The sound of someone vomiting from her next bed every few minutes.
Endless administrative processes for surgery.
A government cancer hospital with long queues.
The long distance from home.
And strangely, in the middle of all this,
I don’t even feel the fear I know should be there.
Not because I don’t care,
but because I’ve been too busy to feel anything at all.
-----
At home, life doesn’t slow down to match the weight of it all.
My husband is currently not working, for now, at my suggestion.
I couldn’t keep going only seeing him early in the morning and after 9 at night.
I needed a partner, not just someone passing through the day.
With our helper leaving in the afternoon, I find myself overwhelmed taking care of our toddler on my own.
And at the same time, I have two jobs.
While others are beginning their Eid holidays,
I don’t have that option,
unless I take unpaid leave.
And right now, I can’t afford to.
I need the income.
For my small family.
And sometimes, for my parents too.
-----
I work from home.
My daughter still cries often,
asking me to be with her, without opening my laptop.
She’s not used to this version of me.
A mother who is now divided.
Sometimes I sit on the floor with her,
working on puzzles together.
Fully present. Just us.
And in those moments, I realize,
how expensive that kind of presence has become.
-----
It’s Ramadan.
A time that is meant to be slow, reflective, grounded.
But my days feel anything but that.
There is always something to do.
Something to think about.
Something to finish.
So much,
that I forget to pause.
Forget to process.
Sometimes tears fall... quietly, briefly.
And just as quickly, I wipe them away.
Because I don’t have time.
I need to sleep,
so I can wake up and take care of the house
especially now that our helper has gone home for the holidays.
I need to go to the hospital,
to be with my mom.
I need to keep up with my two jobs.
Deadlines don’t wait.
Thankfully, my husband is home.
He can hold things together for a while.
He can take care of our daughter when I can’t.
-----
And somewhere in the middle of all this,
I realize something else.
I am also… fortunate.
I have three siblings.
We share the weight, hold each other when one of us starts to fall apart.
My husband shows up as a real partner.
He prepares sahoor, takes care of our daughter,
and stands beside me in ways that matter.
My work is remote.
I can sit beside my mother in her hospital room while still working.
I can queue with my father and still respond to deadlines.
In the middle of everything that feels unbearably heavy,
there are still people quietly holding me up.
And I don’t take that for granted.
Maybe I don’t need answers right now.
Maybe I just need to admit
that this is hard.
That I am tired.
That I am scared.
That I am doing the best I can.
-----
And in the middle of all this,
I place my hopes in You, Allah.
May You open a good path of رزق for my husband,
one that is enough, one that brings ease,
so that our steps can feel lighter again.
May You ease my parents’ treatment,
lift their illness,
and allow them, slowly, to return to the lives they love.
May my child, in time,
grow to understand
that her mom is not leaving,
just trying to hold many things together at once.
And for me
Ya Allah, be enough.
Be enough for my strength,
my patience,
my heart
to carry me through this,
one more day,
and the next.
I don’t know when things will feel lighter.
But I trust that You do ❤️
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