Everyday with Nichi

Unlike Morrie, he hasn’t lived a full life yet. Roughly 13 years does not give him enough time for a full life, especially if the big bulk of it is spent in a hospital, or taking medicine at home, or not being able to do what others can just because he is sick.

Unlike Mitch, I get to see my sick loved one everyday. I am not limited on Tuesdays.

I spend time with Nichi long enough to hear his hopes and dreams for the future. He wants to have a girlfriend—even if he says it as a part of his jokes. He wants to become a chef and lose weight by being one. He wants to become a famous artista. He may consider becoming a doctor, too. Being a patient for nearly half his life, he believes that he can become a good doctor. He wants to get rich so that he can explore various parts of the world. He has grand visions for a future that is being threatened by his disease.

It is unfair that my brother, Nichi, has to fight for his life at very young age whereas some people wouldn’t even value theirs. I am so sad and disappointed to rebel against this idea. And I am crushed because things have to be especially unfair for my little brother.

Yesterday I found out that Nichi’s left eye has completely ceased to function. I don’t know when the leukemic cells that penetrated it will decide to leave. I have no idea if things will return to the way they are once the leukemic cells are gone. These days, when it comes to the certainty of Nichi’s recovery, I know nothing.

But I know that I love him. And that I want him to live longer. And that if he did, he will become a great person, even greater than he already is right now.

Around six months ago, while trying to pacify Nichi amidst the tube inserted down his throat for artificial means of respiration, I got to wonder why a nice boy like him has to go through a tough time whereas I who has lived for 26 years am normal? Why doesn’t he get the same chance to life as I do when, without a doubt, he is a better person than I can ever be?

Nichi and his numerous recoveries have shown me that miracles do happen. And, God, how I wish that a big one will transpire now!

I know that I don’t go to Church and I don’t pray prayers, but I do talk to Him—He whose plans are a mystery to me. I am telling Him now, asking and pleading, to spare the life of Nichi, to let him be normal again, to stop torturing my little brother, to show compassion to a great kid who at times is afraid for his own life.

Nichi never whines. He faces every obstacle thrown his way. He knows how to be brave. He knows when to be afraid. And he fights. In his own quiet way, he fights.

Nichi is no Morrie but he has the courage that is perhaps more than that of Morrie’s.

I am no Mitch and yet I am suffering the way Mitch had or maybe worse.