A dietitian came to visit me. He asked me why I didn’t finish my breakfast for the last two days. I told him that it was too heavy. The rice, meat and vegetables menu in the morning always made my stomach bloated. I wanted a lighter menu like bread, milk and fruit.
Of course I could get what I wanted. In that hospital, they really considered their patients’ appetite. Once I said that I got so bored from eating rice and picked a steamed potato as my carbs replacement. The day after, I got what I wanted. Yet I felt so disappointed for asking that potato, since the food that they cooked tasted better when it was eaten with rice.
In order to change the food menu, they had to do an interview. The dietitian asked the nurse about my appetite, especially if I finished my food or not. Afterwards, they measure my height and weight. He was surprised knowing that I actually had an ideal body weight. My blood pressure was also normal.
The next morning, they gave me a thick bread filled with very tasty strawberry jam, with some oranges and boiled egg. There was also a glass of milk that didn't taste that good, but I finished it anyway out of my respect to the dietitian’s attention.
I actually never took any special diet to get my ideal body weight. It just happened. I never counted how many calories that I took, or any other things. I only did some sit ups in the morning since sometimes I felt so annoyed looking at the fat in my belly.
In this hospital, I was one of those patients with less visitors. The other visitors usually questioned what kind of disease that people had on this place. Almost everyday, I received a questioning and admiring stare. Those visitors for other patients usually tried to talk to me and told me how beautiful I was. They asked where I came from, what did I get so I had to end up here, and some other questions such as did I get any inheritance from foreign people because of my white skin and red hair really looked good on me. I answered them shortly. Deep down, I felt they pitied me for the situation that I went into and wondered what kind of “craziness” that I got so I had to end up here.
I was so insecure that those complimenting remarks could not go inside my head. Actually, I had always been an insecure person that any form of chit-chat that telling me how smart, slim and beautiful I was made me kinda bored. Someone who always told me how beautiful I was turned out looking for a kiss from another woman. It made me even more insecure.
Everyday, the nurse and the doctor asked about my condition. Did I sleep well? What kind of dream came last night? Did I drink enough? Did my cognitive already recover (the answer was of course not yet)? Or, did I worry about some things?
I answered them honestly. About the unusual dreams that brought a man that I missed so much. A dream about those monsters that chased me. Another dream on how desperate I was to continue my life. The night before, I also had a dream of meeting a celebrity in a gathering, only later it turned out into another misfortune by the coming of my junior high school friends who once bullied me. Later on, it became another meeting with a man that I missed very much. He acted so sweet, and even carried me on his back. Meanwhile in reality, he could not do that and it made me think that I was fat when actually my weight was okay. He was just too skinny and didn’t like to do sport.
Of course I had worries. My worries about the outside world made me stay there for a longer time. Actually, I could just lie by telling them that I got far better than before. But it would have made my situation more complicated. I had to admit that I did need their help. I wanted to get better.
I also got anxious from thinking about who I should share my taste in music and movies with. Or about who I should ask for help whenever loneliness struck me when I ran my unproductive life. Together with the financial problems that had been strangling me everyday.
This sickness made me confused. My doctor said it was part of the symptom, and what I felt was truly valid. In this place, no one asked me to deny what I felt. No one said that everything that I had been through was only me being dramatic. Everyone was so understanding and they made me feel safe. Yet, it also increased my fear of how I would face the outside world later on.
I felt like I was Naomi from Murakami’s Norwegian Woods. She was also desperate. But, I didn’t want to end my life just like her. Reading that novel made me think that the person I loved was not like Watanabe, but more like Nagasawa who was very selfish, loved to hunt women and planned to leave his lover without considering her feelings.
I was so tired to get through that pain. I wanted to get well. I ate, slept and swallowed my medicines regularly. I woke up, finished my breakfast, took a shower and around 11-12 pm, I would play with my cell phone that was normally being taken away by the nurse. After that, I got some afternoon nap or read some books. Normally, I would wake up around 4 or 5 pm, then I asked if there was anyone who came to visit me. I would hold my phone again from 6-9 at night. I played some games, replied whatsapp messages and scrolled my instagram feeds.
Mbak Umu was my regular visitor. She would bring me clean clothes, and took my dirty clothes for washing. I felt so guilty for being her burden, but I had no other choice. She was the most reasonable person that I could hang on to at that moment.
I truly forget how to live a normal day in the outside world. I still felt stuck in many ways. But I felt that I had tried to get better. Someday, I would be very healthy that I could pay back all the good deeds that I received when I was sick.
Original Indonesian Post: Ketika Sakit
Translator: Yusni Aziz
Of course I could get what I wanted. In that hospital, they really considered their patients’ appetite. Once I said that I got so bored from eating rice and picked a steamed potato as my carbs replacement. The day after, I got what I wanted. Yet I felt so disappointed for asking that potato, since the food that they cooked tasted better when it was eaten with rice.
In order to change the food menu, they had to do an interview. The dietitian asked the nurse about my appetite, especially if I finished my food or not. Afterwards, they measure my height and weight. He was surprised knowing that I actually had an ideal body weight. My blood pressure was also normal.
The next morning, they gave me a thick bread filled with very tasty strawberry jam, with some oranges and boiled egg. There was also a glass of milk that didn't taste that good, but I finished it anyway out of my respect to the dietitian’s attention.
I actually never took any special diet to get my ideal body weight. It just happened. I never counted how many calories that I took, or any other things. I only did some sit ups in the morning since sometimes I felt so annoyed looking at the fat in my belly.
In this hospital, I was one of those patients with less visitors. The other visitors usually questioned what kind of disease that people had on this place. Almost everyday, I received a questioning and admiring stare. Those visitors for other patients usually tried to talk to me and told me how beautiful I was. They asked where I came from, what did I get so I had to end up here, and some other questions such as did I get any inheritance from foreign people because of my white skin and red hair really looked good on me. I answered them shortly. Deep down, I felt they pitied me for the situation that I went into and wondered what kind of “craziness” that I got so I had to end up here.
I was so insecure that those complimenting remarks could not go inside my head. Actually, I had always been an insecure person that any form of chit-chat that telling me how smart, slim and beautiful I was made me kinda bored. Someone who always told me how beautiful I was turned out looking for a kiss from another woman. It made me even more insecure.
Everyday, the nurse and the doctor asked about my condition. Did I sleep well? What kind of dream came last night? Did I drink enough? Did my cognitive already recover (the answer was of course not yet)? Or, did I worry about some things?
I answered them honestly. About the unusual dreams that brought a man that I missed so much. A dream about those monsters that chased me. Another dream on how desperate I was to continue my life. The night before, I also had a dream of meeting a celebrity in a gathering, only later it turned out into another misfortune by the coming of my junior high school friends who once bullied me. Later on, it became another meeting with a man that I missed very much. He acted so sweet, and even carried me on his back. Meanwhile in reality, he could not do that and it made me think that I was fat when actually my weight was okay. He was just too skinny and didn’t like to do sport.
Of course I had worries. My worries about the outside world made me stay there for a longer time. Actually, I could just lie by telling them that I got far better than before. But it would have made my situation more complicated. I had to admit that I did need their help. I wanted to get better.
I also got anxious from thinking about who I should share my taste in music and movies with. Or about who I should ask for help whenever loneliness struck me when I ran my unproductive life. Together with the financial problems that had been strangling me everyday.
This sickness made me confused. My doctor said it was part of the symptom, and what I felt was truly valid. In this place, no one asked me to deny what I felt. No one said that everything that I had been through was only me being dramatic. Everyone was so understanding and they made me feel safe. Yet, it also increased my fear of how I would face the outside world later on.
I felt like I was Naomi from Murakami’s Norwegian Woods. She was also desperate. But, I didn’t want to end my life just like her. Reading that novel made me think that the person I loved was not like Watanabe, but more like Nagasawa who was very selfish, loved to hunt women and planned to leave his lover without considering her feelings.
I was so tired to get through that pain. I wanted to get well. I ate, slept and swallowed my medicines regularly. I woke up, finished my breakfast, took a shower and around 11-12 pm, I would play with my cell phone that was normally being taken away by the nurse. After that, I got some afternoon nap or read some books. Normally, I would wake up around 4 or 5 pm, then I asked if there was anyone who came to visit me. I would hold my phone again from 6-9 at night. I played some games, replied whatsapp messages and scrolled my instagram feeds.
Mbak Umu was my regular visitor. She would bring me clean clothes, and took my dirty clothes for washing. I felt so guilty for being her burden, but I had no other choice. She was the most reasonable person that I could hang on to at that moment.
I truly forget how to live a normal day in the outside world. I still felt stuck in many ways. But I felt that I had tried to get better. Someday, I would be very healthy that I could pay back all the good deeds that I received when I was sick.
May, 29 2018
Original Indonesian Post: Ketika Sakit
Translator: Yusni Aziz
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