Written by Ronak Maiti
I can’t stop watching the clock on the flight information display. ‘18:36’ – emblazoned in a fiery, intelligent orange. Time moves slowly. Passengers march this way and that way in my peripheral vision. The couple next to me are wearing Santa hats. Any excuse, with some people – it’s January, for heaven’s sake. We all sit on these cold metal seats, and I watch the orange clock.
The ticket to Hong Kong cost £833. A lot of money for a flight ticket. I bought it three days in advance. £833. I was trying to stretch the last ten quid of my monthly budget a week ago by eating Shin Ramyun every day, but all the while I had enough money in my current account for the ticket. Pretend poverty.
‘18:37,’ now. That week I was also working through law vac schemes. I think I was up to A&O Shearman on trackr.com. I was going to do readings after that. I was meant to finish the application ages ago. I should be finishing it now. But I’m physically unable to take my Macbook out of my bag.
Glioblastoma. From the Ancient Greek for ‘glue’, ’germ’, and ‘mass’. I asked Claude.ai what the etymology of the disease’s name was–cross-legged under the duvet cover of my little bed at Bankside a few nights ago–after asking him to summarise it. Then I told him my dad was just diagnosed with it, and asked him to comfort me. I was grinning at the pure, unfamiliar absurdity of the situation.
The advice was sound but unhelpful. Validity is for CSL and syllogisms – how can an emotion be ‘valid’? It’s a stupid use of language, isn’t it? I don’t feel ‘stressed’, I think. I might be ‘numb’, but that’s not abnormal.
‘18:38’. My stomach doesn’t feel great.
My head, though, is clear. Quiet, too. Peaceful. It feels inappropriate.
One of Claude’s lines keeps pinging around in my head, threatening the peace: ‘Focus on today, this week, rather than trying to absorb the entire weight of what lies ahead. Take things one day at a time.’
Cheers, Claude, I remember thinking. I think I will ‘take things one day at a time’. I’ll forget about coursework, internships, the future – I guess I am doing enough by getting through the day. A week ago, I could never do “enough”. It’s actually refreshing.
‘18:39’. I blink. Funny how the cancer diagnosis is the worst problem life has given me so far, and it wasn’t even my diagnosis. My worst struggles aren’t even mine. Not a bad deal. I wonder what that says about me.
I blink again. Is it weird that the strongest emotion I’ve felt these past few days is shame? Or guilt – what’s the difference?
I suppose there’s a kind of mercy when life hits you with cancer – when all you need to do is get through, you’re spared from the fatuous preoccupations of normal life. I don’t need to budget, and I don’t need to practise law. I’ve never really worked, and yet can cop a thousand-pound plane ticket out of my current account. I’ve just been playing a kind of game. Cancer, though – that’s a ticket to join real life.
There’s something a bit sick about that – work being another form of leisure. That’s all possible in the same world where great swathes of global society waste away from lack of produce.
Wow. I’m in a reflective mood apparently. So ‘woke’. Marxist, even. Hilarious. Is it true? I don’t know, and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
Whatever.
I’m fine, I’m cool.
I’m here. I don’t know why I’m sweating and my temples are warm and I can’t keep my eyelids up for very long. Room’s dry or something.
‘18:40’. I see the details of my flight on the screen change and say ‘Go to Gate’. The couple sitting next to me get up, and plod away hurriedly. I listen to their footsteps fade into the grating bustle of the airport.
I should check my phone, so I take it out and scroll through the notifications. Two missed calls from Mum (媽媽) – I should ring her back before I board. A few DMs: Ingrid says ‘safe flight, mark!! thinking about you and sending all our love from LSE, good luck with ur fam. pls reach out and talk to us if you need <3,’ and Anay, a friend from Harrow, says ‘See you soon bro // Mayb have a stress wank in plane toilet before you land so you’re calm when I pick u up in hk.’ I’m smirking. Both touching messages. I have good friends. Great, in fact. Don’t deserve them.
I don’t want to see my mum and sister and dad. But I know I have to. This is real, this matters. I feel a hard flush of air escape my nose. Since when did my life have these kinds of problems? It’s cold now. I think I’m shaking.
I’ll go. I won’t march as fast as I can when I get up, like everyone else here.
I’ll take my time;
this stuff really isn’t easy, after all.
