This week was better than the last one, I think.

I worked almost constantly; that would probably be why I got a chance to put aside my previously preoccupied thoughts.

International students are no strangers to money problems. Unless you’re already filthy rich, the idea of simply studying and living in another country is unsustainable. I can’t just let my family pay until who knows when; I need to make an effort to save every single cent. Though I understand how this is also the process of adulting as well: to struggle with being independent in an economy where your ambition is only as big as your exhaustion.

This doesn’t only concern me. My mom is also struggling to earn money. She is a clerical worker in a lower, more local part of the government. Her job is easy to replace, measly in salary, and forces her to wake up early. This doesn’t help when Father’s epilepsy is getting more and more frequent at night.

My brother still doesn’t have a job. I do wonder when he will be motivated to do something, given he is also just as much of a financial strain as me. He seems more outgoing, with his friends and his mind on a motorcycle. At least now he can go to grandma’s house whenever Father returns home.

Nothing has really changed with my paternal grandparents. Grandma seems to talk less, probably because she can’t be in a good mood when her husband is in a state of agony. Grandpa sounds breathier than usual, and his words are muffled. At least he can still hear me, for now. It’s been at least a month, thirty days of constant suffering, when the only change of scenery he can witness is from the white hospital lights to the seafoam green walls in his bedroom.

Father sold the land. He sent me some money, but I wouldn’t take it. I know it isn’t just for me; his bank debt must be cleared before anyone else.

Everything is bleak for everyone.

It’s been boring, and I recognize it, but I can’t physically make myself get up and go out.

My friends went away. Seeing their stories made me feel happy for them, but it simultaneously angered me regarding my life right now. What used to bring me joy failed to do so this week. I also have so much paperwork I need to complete by the end of this year, or else I will face many obstacles with my legal status. Graduation, transferring, money, and transitioning: they prove that my brain is incapable of handling everything on my own. But who can I ask for help?

I feel like I’m on autopilot. Again.

I tried to fake being happy. After all, that’s what I do best. But my body can’t tolerate this anymore. I’m sick of this, but my eyes ran dry long ago. I need a cure, an antidote for this mess, which I know won’t appear until the end of September.

It’s always fun to dream about what will happen when I become the version of myself I’ve wanted to be: to be a woman, with my voluminous head of hair, strutting in a gorgeous dress, where I can talk with confidence, behave with poise, and feel comfortable in my own skin without caring about what others might think. I want to have fun, to hang out with friends, to find love, to work, to practice my creative vision, and to fight for the causes I believe in.

It’s not much, but the simple thought of it is enough to get me through the night. It is enough to feel comfortable somewhere, even if that place is confined to a room.

Sleeping is so easy. To forget about everything, to ignore all the problems at hand even just for a moment. It’s hard to wake up when you can’t be excited about it. Opening my eyes feels like I’m confessing to not experiencing pleasure.

I have eyes, but my future looks blinding.
I have a nose, but only the smell of moss is in the air.
I have ears, but everything except for criticism turns deaf.
I have hands, but nothing is within my touch.
I have a mouth, but what is there to say?
At least I still have a heart, but don’t ask me how it feels.

“You said some words, didn’t hear you fall asleep
People were talking louder from my TV screen
I heard them scream, it was too dark to see
…
You still think we live in a world so beautiful
You see, I think I don’t believe in this stuff anymore

Don’t cry
I’ll try to say the right words at the right times
Sing you lullabies
Please, don’t wake up, wake up
…
Aijā, aijā
Saldā miegā.”

(“Lullaby, lullaby
In sweet sleep.“)

– Sudden Lights, Aijā. 2023