DaoistEasternWitch

Dessrie was just a child when she was diagnosed and confined to the facility. 

A research facility specifically for people with rare and incurable diseases.

Throughout her life, she has observed people’s pain as they lost their loved ones. 

From an innocent child fighting for life.

Nurtured with love and affection by her family and friends.

Little by little. She bid her friends goodbye.

Her clock the longest to expire.

When God suddenly gave her existence meaning.

She met a boy, no he was not a boy anymore, a man who hates the world for its unfairness.

And she fell in love.


This is a story of giving. For people who have lost their loved ones. For people who are praying, wishing for one more second. What would you give to save the person you love? How far would you go?

The Bell of Death

It was a simple and funny first meeting. Not dramatic like what he would tell in the future. 


Negative days were when he trashed his room to ruins. 


Fainting from exhaustion majority of the time. 


Positive days were the times he didn't throw me out of his room. 


At times he quietly lay on his bed looking outside the window, I'm guessing with long experience, his body weak and sluggish. 


It was an uncomfortable feeling. One that lingers, like someone is on top of you, you want to shake it off, but you have no energy, he's off limits with stimulants, so he can only endure. 


One afternoon, the sky was so clear and blue, there were sparse clouds and the meadow that I love was so clear and dazzling in brightness. The greens on the garden looked as if it was vibrating, breathing with life. 


I was sitting next to his bed, as my usual past time these days. 


As I look at my meadow, a life so bountiful, I've often wished as a child to become part of it. 


Staring at them from long hours until the pain throbbing inside my small body subsided. 


I remembered a song my father sang to me before. 


An Aria. It doesn't have any lyrics but it touched me deeply. It woke me up from my misery after I lost my hands. 


Looking at the meadow, I sang an Aira for such a strong life. Despite all the storms that came and went. It stood, there, countless leaves and flowers blooming and wilting as natural as the air we breathe. 


Without any lyrics, but with simple heartfelt notes.


I imagine myself being accompanied by my father's violin and my mom's keyboard. Like the concerts I watched on television. 


I imagine a life where I could be free, wild in my ambition, and for once in my imagination, normal. 


I never dared let go in the presence of my family. 


I still remember my Mom's words as it echoes inside me, "Honey, never think they pity you. They admire you." For surviving. Was the words left unsaid, which later had been branded to me. 


Even as little as a second of my breath, is as precious as gold for my parents. 


And their love, despite filling me, is heavy.


By giving me all of their affection, filled with love and acceptance of how I am. It's just as much as I'm willing to give back to them. 


I wanted other people who are like me to be filled with so much affection that they never question their existence. So I accompany them and talk to them. Sharing all that I can till I have nothing left to give.


I found him looking at me quietly, his eyes shining with tears. 


He knew his situation. He's getting worse. He wants to live. 


Yet still counting for that one last bell.


"You'll be okay," I whispered to him. A promise, not an assurance. 


You'll Be Okay