It's ok to ask for help

The flight to Bangkok felt less like a journey and more like a battle—one I wasn’t sure I was equipped to win. My body was a fragile vessel, betraying me at every turn. The fever clawed at me relentlessly the past few days when I was in Gaya, and I wondered, more than once, if a single dose of paracetamol might have offered a reprieve. But it was too late for "what-ifs."

Days of eating nothing had left me weak, trembling, and hollow. The effort of swallowing was a cruel ordeal; even water defied gravity, flowing out through my nose instead of down my throat. Each attempt to eat felt like a cruel gamble, with the food finding its way into my lungs instead of my stomach. My body rejected every basic function it once performed with ease.

The most frightening part wasn’t just the inability to eat or drink—it was the slow, creeping awareness that I was slipping further away from health. My lungs protested violently, hinting at an infection taking root, and every cough or gasp for air seemed to confirm that things were spiraling out of control.

As the plane touched down, the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, a beacon of reassurance that I had made it through this ordeal. Despite the fever, the weakness, and the chaos inside my body, I found the strength to signal for help. Summoning the last reserves of energy, I requested wheelchair assistance from the flight crew.

Since I hadn’t arranged for it in advance, I had to wait—thirty minutes that felt like an eternity. But there was something oddly comforting about the stillness, as if the promise of help kept me anchored. Then, at last, the soft hum of wheels rolling toward me signaled hope.

The airport staff who wheeled me from the gate to immigration, baggage claim, and finally to the taxi stand was a quiet hero. His patience and care were deeply appreciated, especially as the journey itself laid bare the harsh realities faced by those with disabilities.

Navigating the airport in a wheelchair opened my eyes to an undercurrent I hadn’t fully noticed before—the indifference and impatience of the world around me. People rushed into the lifts without a second glance, forcing us to wait for the next one. Others darted in front of my wheelchair, cutting me off as if my presence was an inconvenience. Every moment was a reminder of how invisible the struggles of people with disabilities often are.

These moments weren’t just frustrating—they were enlightening. They fueled a quiet determination within me to advocate for greater awareness and kindness in the future. It shouldn’t take a personal experience to remind others that those with disabilities deserve dignity and space, but sometimes that’s what it takes.

When we finally reached the taxi stand, I felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude. The staff member’s quiet service, in contrast to the bustle around us, turned what could have been an unbearable experience into something manageable. Tipping him wasn’t just a gesture—it was my way of acknowledging the compassion he showed in a moment when I needed it most.

As I left the airport, one thought lingered: if I could share my story and bring more awareness to the challenges faced by people with disabilities, maybe the next person in a wheelchair wouldn’t have to face the same struggles.

At last, I made it. I reached my best friend’s apartment. At that moment, I had nothing but tears—tears of overcoming this personal endurance. I felt blessed and, for the first time in days, proud of myself. Proud for having the courage to demand what I needed without worrying about inconveniencing others, making this weak body’s journey just a bit more comfortable.

We all need to remember this: there’s no shame in asking for help. It takes courage, but it’s a strength worth embracing.