contemplating on a lost friendship

Asthma cripples me. It’s this silent enemy that sneaks up on me in the primary form of a nasty cold. Then it morphs into this mid-sized monster that sucks the air out of my lungs.

When I first got acquainted with it, it didn’t hide its ugly face from me. Head on, it attacked me, showing no mercy, leaving no space in my lungs for air to circulate in. But as years went by, it began to show pity on me; and for a number of years and attacks, it became considerate enough—warning me when it wants to impose its power on my frail body. That way, I came to know how to equip myself and prepare for its subtle attacks. Simple tools like a hot cup of water mixed with Vicks vaporub are enough to alleviate its fury. For years, we coexisted peacefully.

Now I don’t know what happened, or what I did, to make that harmonious coexistence disappear into thin air. When it visited me a couple of months ago, it appeared to no longer recognize me as a friend. It showed no mercy. And this time around, it acted the same way—sinking its fangs into my heaving chest, leaving me sleepless as I gasp for air.

***

I’m not really afraid of dying. What I’m afraid of is the manner of my demise. I don’t want to meet my death in the sea/ocean, drowning. If I’m going to die, I want it to be quick—I want death to just glance at me and be done with its job. I don’t want it to stare at me and smile as it takes my last breath away. Having asthma is just like that—like drowning in the middle of a vast sea. You slowly descend into the sea floor while you’re still slightly conscious—still able to take in the eerily silent view of slowly swimming fishes and seaweeds dancing to the tune of your slow death. That’s why I pray that if I were to die, let it not be by the sea or by asthma.

***

I have yet to figure out how it all came to be like this again. What have I done? What have I not done?

Francis told me that it’s most likely because of work-related stress. That, I do not deny. Work has been fatal lately. I wasn’t surprised at all when Francis advised me to resign if I think I need to. That decision has yet to be seen, though I’m afraid I’ve already been considering that option lately. And such realization breaks my heart. I just hope that I would not have to act on that decision, and instead consider other options that would not lead me away from the printed word.

For now, I excuse myself from such thoughts. For now, I have to figure out how to appease this silent enemy of mine, so that by the next time it pays me a visit, we can just both sit down to a cup of hot chocolate and be re-acquainted like old friends.