Saturday, March 28, 2015


I was sick for a week. Chicken pox. In the age of twenty-three. In the middle of intensive training in which I need at least 80% attendance and have exam every Monday. And all of this happened when I was still in the Capital, living faraway from my family.

I guess I couldn't thank my lucky stars for that.

When I discovered I have red rash all over my body after having fever for two days straight, I started to freak out. It was Friday. I already had the plan to hang out: sort of small reunion with my college friends. My best friend from Yogyakarta also happened to have a training in the Capital too, so we decided to meet up and hang like we used to do back in the days. Then I went to doctor, hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought. But the young, handsome doctor told me with his charming smile that it was indeed a chicken pox. I should have a rest for two or three days, he said. But I said I didn't have that much of a time, that there's this exam I had to face in Monday and those class I couldn't just skip. So the doctor told me it was okay to still come to class but I had to wear mask. Honestly, I was relieved. At least I wouldn't have to redo my training next year because I clearly failed if I didn't attend the exam.

But the hang out plan was definitely off the table. My friend visited me instead, despite getting lost in the process of finding where I live. We chatted, a lot. It still wasn't enough, but I really appreciated the effort and felt kinda touched. Later that day I started to worry about my exam. I wasn't exactly a bright student in the first place, and the sickness made it worse. My head hurt and I lost my appetite and it took a really great effort to concentrate on the subject. 

Monday. I wore the mask and looked like triple times the freak I've always been. People stared. I did some explaining. I did the exam, finished while in the verge of crying. I attended the class, some guys still thought I had flu until day three. I couldn't concentrate on classes, rash felt itchy. I had to gulp the medicine 5 times a day, but I did only eat 4 at best. The rest of the week came slowly. Less socializing, more cringing (at my face full of rash).

I'm healthy now, and to think back, it wasn't that bad, anyways. I wasn't that unlucky. 

I didn't have to skip any class or exam. I didn't faint at morning ceremonies. I did never arrive late to campus. I still got that small reunion, but maybe not in the way I intended it to be. I realized I have great friends surrounding me.

So, there's that. Well, maybe I'll have scars in my face, but maybe I won't. 

I still think I have a great time here, I kinda wish I wouldn't have to go back to work.

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