Independence Despite Disability ♿✨

Redefining What It Means to Be Independent

I was a fiercely independent teenager—not only was I not sheltered, but I also hated the idea of others doing things for me.

If anything, I was the one people relied on.

🏍️ I ran errands on my motorcycle, paid bills, and tutored my neighbors’ kids in English.
👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 I accompanied my parents to hospital appointments—while managing my own.
🎉 I took my nieces and nephews to school events and birthday outings.
🐶 I looked after my pet dog, Mylo, and extended my help to family, friends, and neighbors every chance I got.

All this—while quietly battling the early symptoms of an unknown, foreign disease hidden deep within my DNA.

The Silent Struggle Within 💢

At first, it was subtle but relentless:

• Unexplained body pain

• Fatigue

• Migraines

Soon, the symptoms became impossible to ignore. My body began to betray me—walking and writing grew difficult. Violent tremors shook my hands. My joints became painfully swollen. My motor functions started to fail. My toes curled and I suffered.

To make matters worse, my father passed away during this difficult time where the emergent, violent symptoms of the mutation in my genes started manifesting. 💔

In hindsight, I'm glad my dad was gone before he could see my health gone.

Still, I fought back. I had to write my pre-university exams from a hospital bed—fighting, tooth and nail, against an unknown illness consuming me from within.

Diagnosis, Disability, and Despair 😔

By the time doctors finally diagnosed me, it was too late.
I found myself in a wheelchair—suddenly dependent, deeply depressed.

I couldn’t continue my education—not because I didn’t want to, but because:

• I was constantly ill and hospitalized. 🏥

• I had become a medical case study—my disease is rare. 🔬

• My body was deteriorating faster than anyone expected.

• People kept projecting their religious judgments and karmic beliefs onto me. 🙄

Fighting Back—and Finding My Own Path 🔥

But I refused to be defeated.

I started writing op-eds for local media—shedding light on the often-overlooked realities faced by disabled people in Malaysia. Eventually, my writing opened doors, and I was hired by Genashtim.

That was a turning point—and I haven’t looked back since. 🚀

I’ve shattered every expectation and every stereotype thrown at me.
I may not be able to walk—but I use my mind, my intelligence, and my willpower to work, support myself, and care for my loved ones. 💪

It may not look like traditional independence—but it is independence, all the same. 🙌

Standing Tall in My Own Way 🌟

I’ve come a long way.
It wasn’t easy—but it had to be done.
Being tough wasn’t a choice; it was my only option.

Once, my half-sister, driven by resentment, said to me:
"I’m happy no man would marry you."

I simply smiled to myself and thought:
A stable job and financial independence are far more reliable than a husband. 💼

And I still stand by that thought—proudly—as a mutated, Malaysian, disabled woman of Indian descent. 🇲🇾🌸

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Final Thoughts

Independence isn’t always about walking tall—it’s about rising, again and again, on your own terms. ✨