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Shadia Sobers

But A Story Is A Story All The Same

Osaka, Japan

I'm just your quirky 24-year old that loves to escape into a different world by writing and reading. I write on anything that really pops into my mind and catches my interest. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, and other times it's just so peculiar that it's neither good nor bad though serves the purpose of simply entertaining.

I'm currently studying social psychology in Japan, though I was raised in Georgia. I'm also not very articulate when it comes to speaking about myself in most cases, as I'm sure you can tell.

I believe all people were made to make beautiful creations. What is your beautiful creation?

Satisfied

Jul 15, 2020 4 years ago

Two weeks I spent about 17 days feeling terrible with what was assumed to be the coronavirus. Imagine living your dream by relocating to study in Japan only to get sick before the new semester begins. I certainly was Alice in Wonderland as something I never accounted for occurred. Who in their right mind expected a pandemic to sweep through the world? Who expects to catch it at that? It was the sickest I'd ever been and I would never wish it on my worst enemy. It must have been truly dreadful for someone that can be fairly vindictive when crossed to never wish this on someone. The term sick as a dog doesn't begin to describe how I felt. I would hardly leave my bed, only ever to run to the bathroom. I never really ate and if I did, I had to force myself. I had always been grateful to live in my small apartment alone. Now I was even more grateful that no one could see how terrible my appearance had fallen and how ill I felt. It would have been too much of a hassle to go to the hospital knowing that they would push me away while saying, “You don't look very sick and you aren't having too much trouble breathing.” These are the words many foreigners are being told these days as we seek help in this country. I had no intention of going to the hospital. In fact, I felt I could heal better alone than if I were around people. I had my cellphone and people could message me as they pleased, though my replies were slow as I slept for most of the day. In that aspect, I never felt alone. There was always someone messaging me, always wanting to know if I was feeling better, if my symptoms were worse, or quite frankly just to make sure I was still alive. I'd only told a select few people based off of how close I was to them and if I felt they would react within reason. I never did like, or respond well, to people making a fuss over me even when need be. My own sister wasn't told that I was sick due to her overdramatic need to make you feel horrible about things outside of your control. “It's because you don't know how to take care of yourself. I knew you shouldn't have left the country. You always make bad decisions.” I can hear her now if she were to have known. She had a way of pinning blame on people, even when there was no one to blame. She'd find a way to, it was something I truly admired about her, to make something big out of nothing. Though it was also one of the many things I hated about her all the same. It's funny, death that is. It's truly funny, and dreadful, and petrifying in the fact that the most important aspects of it are a mystery to all that have yet to succumb to it. I have never truly been scared of death, but in the face of it, I felt numb. I wasn't very worried about what death would do to me. Once I was gone, that was it, it was over. I was always concerned about how it would affect other people. I kept telling myself, “You have to get better for your family.” I'm the good child out of my three siblings. How vain it must sound to openly say that, but it is the truth. I have always followed the rules, made good grades, followed my parents' instructions, and did what I was told unlike my older brother and sister who deviated from the path my parents had tried to get them to walk. What would they do if I died? Who would take care of them when they were wrinkled and gray? How would my mother hold a funeral and somehow send my body back to America? We all know none of us had the money for that. What about our plans to go fishing together? My mom has always liked to learn new trades, fishing being her newest interest. I was the only one of my siblings that knew how to fish after my friend's father taught me on our trip to Florida. Who would she go with in the future? Surely my siblings wouldn't be interested. And my silly father. Who would buy my father that Porsche he's always wanted? We had a joke, him and I. About how I would buy him a Porsche when I graduated and made it big. I never did understand his fixation with Porsches. If I didn't get better, would I have the chance to ask him? And my best friend. My dearest Angelica, what about all of the plans we had made for our future? How we would buy houses near each other where our children could roam free and happily? I would have left the world without having experiences that could only be given in the distant future. I would have died because of something out of my control. I'd always made sure to tell people I loved them almost every day for fear of one day losing them at any unsuspecting time. Somehow, the millions of times I said it just didn't seem enough when I felt my time was fleeting. How many times should I have said it for me to feel satisfied? To be able to say, “You told everyone you loved them numerous times for years, it's okay.” I honestly don't think I'd ever feel satisfied in those regards. With my lack of satisfaction, my determination grew. I needed to get better, if not for myself, then for those I deeply cherish.

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