My worst weekend experience happened recently. I had been looking forward to a beautiful, fun weekend, especially because most of the usual camp activities were wrapping up. We were down to just a few events and then parade. i wanted to just stay around with friends as it weekend and is not always stressful, gist, have fun and relax
But things didn’t go as planned. As the weekend approached, I started feeling unwell. I haven’t been sick in a long time, I’m the kind of person who hardly ever falls ill. So when it hit me, it hit hard. What began as a simple catarrh (runny nose and cold) soon escalated. Normally, I find some odd comfort in catarrh, the way it changes your voice, the sniffles, the feeling of being under the weather, but this case was different. It wasn’t just catarrh. It turned into full-blown malaria.
Suddenly, I couldn’t do anything. I stayed in my hostel all weekend. My hostel mates joked, You’re lucky, no parade, no classes, no stress, no running, no doubling-up, but how can it be lucky to be sick? Missing activities even though not all I was excited about, feeling weak, crying, and being stuck alone in a room, that’s not lucky. I dreaded every moment.
As the symptoms worsened, I realized I couldn’t just wait it out without help. I went to the clinic in camp and told them exactly how I felt. At first, I was given oral medication. But instead of getting better, I grew weaker. My body ached, and I could barely move. I went back to the clinic again, this time, they gave me injections and drips.
I never imagined something like this could happen, especially while I’m far from home, in a new place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Everything around me felt uncomfortable, the walls, the quiet, the distance. I found myself hating even the things I once found comfort in. I felt lost, defeated, weak.
I stayed in bed, half‑asleep, half‑praying I’d get better. I missed the laughter, the energy of being around friends, the excitement of events, the simple breeze outdoors. Instead, I had blankets, pillows, medicine, and many restless nights. I cried, I felt alone, I questioned why it had to hit me now.
Up till now, I’m still battling this illness. I pray to recover soon, because I’m not myself in this state. The cheerful person, the one who smiles easily, the one who laughs at little jokes, she’s gone for now. What remains is someone trying to fight this storm inside her body and mind.This was the worst weekend not because of failed plans, those were easy to change, but because illness took away my ability to choose. It robbed me of joy, energy, and presence. It turned rest into suffering. And in that quiet suffering, I realized how precious simple health and freedom are.
So yes, this was my worst weekend. And even though I’m still on the road to recovery, I’ll carry this experience as a reminder, health is a gift, plans are fragile, and sometimes walking through pain is growth in disguise.
