I am recovering at last.
Hospitalized for a week and is now given another week to rest. I am to use this healing phase to slow down, write and read for pleasure, and deliberately breathe again.
Before being caught with illness in the last days of August, life has been shifting in a quick pace and in circadian manner: wake up early, go to work, be stuck in traffic, and arrive home. This is not the life that I wanted nor I imagined.
August saw too much of chaotic crises that it made me sick. Literally.
After the days of high fever and loss of appetite subsided, the doctors decided to give me ample time to rest at home. I perceive this as an opportunity to pause and contemplate, to take in a good air, to calm those crises from last month.
I am currently in the third day of my recovery, which means there is still almost a week for a break. For now, I am glad that I have time to be at peace on my bed. I cannot remember the last time I had such serenity.
(Everything has been chaotic in this country really, so sorry for this bourgeois sentiment.)