In Continuum.

I've never been the healthiest kid at school when I was growing up. Every single page of our report book had a category at the bottom that marks whether you are overweight, in acceptable weight, or underweight. For the most part of my primary school life, I've always been in the latter category because I was always sick. Asthma was the big issue that I had, and that is one of the big reasons why my family decided to move to Singapore in the very first place. Supposedly, the climate and the weather, amongst other things, are just not suitable for me at all. I guess I was just born in the wrong country, and my asthma problem slowly faded away over the years in Singapore. I am very thankful for that, though I don't remember how it was like to have an asthma attack back in those days. I was too young to remember, though I did get a glimpse of it two years ago when I had bronchitis. Anyway, I was the kind of kid that vomited in the classroom, fainted during the national anthem, and ran a high fever without telling anybody whatsoever. I was just generally very weak, falling sick all the time, and my mother has always been there to take care of me. That's what all mothers do I guess, or should do anyway, when their children fall sick. They look after them, take care of them, and that is what makes my mother one of the most important human being in my life.

As some of you may already know, I have been suffering from a strange brand of cold that seems to be everlasting. This fever of mine has been hanging around for the longest time, and every tip in temperature was met with a similar increase in temperature a few hours later. It got really frustrated when the medication refused to do their jobs, and the way that I shivered uncontrollably in my blankets. On the table next to my bed right now is a giant cup of water, two packets of medication for fever, a thermometer, a change of clothes if I do sweat like a pig again, and a towel for me to dry things up. It has been a difficult past couple of days for me to go through, and I am still very much humbled by these little microscopic menaces. That is also why I am not too quick to proclaim to the world that I am getting better, because we don't want to jinx anything, do we? Let's just say that from a temperature of 39.6 last night, I have managed to pull it down to a mere 37 right now as I am typing this. I still feel somewhat drowsy and weak from the medication though, but it's not going to kill me or anything. I suppose after this ordeal, I'd need a lot more rest than what I am normally getting. Note to self: I should take care of myself more.

Each time that I fall sick, it has always been my mother taking care of me and no other. She has always been the person to wake up every once in a while in the middle of the night to check up on my temperature, or the one to bring me a glass of water when I desperately needed one. She's like a really awesome nurse at a hospital, with me being the only patient while she watches over anything and everything. Just last night when the fever was soaring, she insisted on giving me a massage of sorts, and that honestly felt very good. I am grateful to have a mother like that, and thankful that she has always been there for me. The other times, though, I haven't always been so lucky. I am remember when I was still in the army, there wasn't anybody there who gave a shit about you. Sure, there were the medical officers at the medical center, but they always treat you as somebody who is trying to fake your illness or something. I understand that a lot of soldiers would try to fake their way through things, but there are genuine cases out there too! We were all treated the same way though, as suspects trying to run away from their duties. The military camp felt so cold back then, and I had to suffer through everything on my own.

For the first three months on the dreaded island, we were told that if we absent ourselves for more than a certain amount of activities, we'd be required to do our three month BMT (Basic Military Training) all over again. That's why for the most part, I kept my illnesses to myself, and didn't dare to tell anybody about it. I bet it was the chlorine filled water that we were fed with on a daily basis. At any rate, I remember it first started on the eve of Chinese New Year, and my fever shot up to more than 41 degrees. That was a horrible night for the most part, and I remember the fever never really going away throughout the three months that I was there. I'd go on route marches with a thermometer in my pocket, and walked kilometers after kilometers with a throbbing headache, a burning brain, and footsteps that I did not fully trust. It was a horrible period of time, and I was convinced by the second month that I was going to die on that island somehow. Back then, it was really every man for himself, and anybody who was sick dealt with things themselves. For many nights, I cuddled with myself to bed, trying to control coughs under the blankets and suffered through long hours of pains and fever.

Like I said, it has always been my mother who took care of me, and for that she is one of the most important human beings in my life. But I have to say this one thing about the other woman in my life who has been incredible kind and caring to my health, someone that I run to for comfort when I needed some running away. Before leaving my home for Temasek Polytechnic yesterday to pick Neptina up from school, I was feeling absolutely fine with no signs of fever or whatsoever. It was not until when we were walking out of the school did I suddenly feel the punch in my stomach all over again. The chills started creeping up my back again, and every step was suddenly so difficult to make. The long wait at the bus stop was not encouraging at all, and I found myself sitting on the staircases on a double-decker bus, since I was unable to find a seat. I needed to sit down, or lie down, and I knew that the fever was coming back all over again. I told her that I needed to get to her house soon, because I felt the wave of nausea coming over me. We got off the second bus, threaded our way carefully across the road, and the first thing that I did in her room was to sit down on her bed.

It was then when she gave my pills to take along with water, and a jacket to keep myself worn since I was shivering a little underneath the blanket. She constantly checked up on me as she placed her hand over my forehead and neck, and she'd carefully adjust the blanket just to make sure that I was fully covered and no parts of me was exposed. She took my temperature and monitor me throughout the night, then took me in her arms to keep warm - keep me safe. For a period of time, I drifted in and out of consciousness, especially with the lights turned down and the house quiet. I felt protected knowing that there was somebody there to take care of me, to watch over me and made sure I was OK. I remember the look on her face when I had to leave, the way she sat on the floor with her hair covering her face. She seemed reluctant to let me go, like she still had a lot to do to make me feel better. As tired and worn out as I was, I was indeed feeling better than a couple of hours before. Just being there, knowing that there was somebody else out there who gives a shit other than my mother - felt good.

No one other than my mother has given me such care and concern, you know. It's funny how humans work at times, especially when it comes to illnesses. Like, when it comes to taking care of others, we often do whatever we can do make the person we care about feel better. But when it comes to ourselves, we tend to find excuses and alternate explanations as to why we are feeling horrible. We tend to brush off little symptoms and pretend that they are not there when they are. Maybe that does not apply to most people out there, maybe it is just me. I am just stubborn like that, and I happen to have less care for myself and more care for others. Just like that time out in the fields when a friend of mine started shivering uncontrollably due to a fever of sorts. I remember there were only the two of us in the vehicle at that time, and I gave him some Panadol from my backpack (he didn't bring his) and gave him my jacket (he didn't bring his), and offered my thermometer (he didn't bring his). But when it comes to myself, I sometimes become reckless and careless. I pretend that I am invincible and expose myself to a bunch of different things that eventually brings me down.

It means a lot to me, to have someone there to seriously take care of you. It makes me feel guilty somewhat, when you are the person lying on the bed while the others run about the house to get you what you want and what you need. It does make me feel horrible at times, but extremely touched as well. I never in my life expected anybody other than my mother to pay such a great attention to my sickness. Neptina, however, she took care of me and made me better in every way she knew how. Of course, there is only so much anybody can do, because it is ultimately up to the medicine and everything to make the fever go away. But she did whatever that she could have done, she did whatever that was in her power to make me feel comfortable, to make me feel better, to make me feel safe and protected. I am so thankful to have a girlfriend like that who cares about me in terms of my health, seriously. Hey Neptina, you are a wonderful, wonderful human being, and I should be so lucky to have you by my side when I need you the most. Thank you for everything that you have done, even the littlest deeds went a long way. Believe me, in you, I find a home outside of mine. I love you.