July 15th, 2026

It has been a long time since I posted on this private blog that no one reads. Life hasn't turned out the way I wanted it to. In the blink of an eye, it has been more than fifteen years — or more, definitely more. My aunts got older, I got older, an aunt died, my mom died. I don't paint anymore. I became a full-time carer for my aunts after COVID, and taking care of a 99-year-old is a blessing but also filled with hardships.

The thing about failing memory, whether it's a state of delirium due to sickness or the beginning of dementia, is that we never know how we'll take it or how we'll respond to it. One can never prepare oneself to face it. I have thought about it a lot, and even then, when I was faced with that situation, when my aunt couldn't recognize me or respond to me, looking at me with a blank stare, I felt lost.

During the times when I found her on the floor after a fall, or when she refused to call me to walk with her no matter how much I asked her to, I wanted to sit down on the floor and throw a hissy fit like a five-year-old, but I had to gather my composure and tackle the situation like an adult.

I believe I can do it, and all it takes is one step at a time. People have worked harder and suffered more than this, but it's not a competition. It takes a toll on my physical and mental health, and I question my resilience every day, wondering whether I can weather it out, whether it will get better, or whether I will fail at this task without outside assistance. It is also not a task I would wish upon others.

So I will end the ranting for the day, suck it up, get busy, and see what tomorrow brings. Ranting is also a form of coping, too.