UYI MAA

Let me tell you a story.

As much as it sounds funny, it’s also pretty obvious—I hate injections. There’s something about that sharp needle piercing the skin that still gives me the ick. When I was a kid, probably in 4th grade. My mom and cousin took me to the doctor for a routine injection. Even now, I get flashbacks of that weird afternoon, imagine my mom and cousin holding me down while the doctor is prepping ..... I cried like a newborn baby… or maybe even worse. It felt like the world was ending.

That was the last time I willingly took an injection. Since then, I have mastered the art of swallowing bitter tablets and gulping down the worst syrups, but when it comes to an injection...I run...Infact I jump faster than my annoying friends jumping on conclusion (with no prior knowledge whatsoever) and then… COVID happened I just couldn’t bring myself to do it without mentally preparing for weeks.

Today, history repeated itself. I had to take an injection again. Of course, not by choice. I hurt my knee and just to be safe everyone insisted I get a tetanus shot, Imagine a girl running away from an injection.....walked alone to the clinic...Today there was no mom or cousin by my side and as I lay on the bed, my hands instinctively reached out, searching for some familiar hand to hold . That’s when it hit me.

Moving out teaches you so much, doesn’t it? It teaches you to fix yourself when things break, to talk to yourself when no one’s around, and, at times, to hold yourself when no one else can and so, I did.

Just a lil update - I am alive.