I have lived a well-planned life. My mom used to tell me that I have my own decisions, ever since I’m a toddler. I choose what will I wear. I choose what will I eat. I choose anything and everything. Yep. My parents never win.
My student-self is as picky as my toddler-self. I grew old with a few good friends. I grew old with a few but definitely awesome-in-my-eyes wardrobe. I grew old with the hobbies that I truly enjoy. I grew old with a pre-determined path.
I’ll finish a degree of my choice, I’ll work at my dream company and then I’ll get to write my own love story. I’ll get married. I’ll have three kiddos, the eldest should be a boy then a girl and a boy again.
We’ll leave in a humble yet beautiful home with a grand terrace and a modern kitchen. We’ll have two cars, black for my hubby and white for me. We’ll have picnics. We’ll fight but we’ll reconcile. We’ll have our own happily ever after.
Those are just my wishful thinking. Because now, I am left with no choice.
Just last month, after I finally got my dream job, my plans were shattered, destroyed, wrecked, crushed, into tiny little pieces I can’t even recognize.
I have a big ‘C’. Stage four. Hopeless case. That I know.
No words of encouragement can make me believe that I’ll get better. Sorry, I’m not dumb.
I am left with nothing but this sickness that I have never ever planned to have.
My mind is quick, though. I still have one last option left.
Yes, cancer have destroyed everything that I have planned for. And it is destroying me, too, slowly but surely. But, I won’t let it win.
I’ll choose when will I die.
And that chosen date… is now.
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer