05/01/2026
Today, I close my eyes and I’m 14 again.
The room isn’t filled with birthday wishes, but with a heavy, silent fear. The weight in my chest isn’t excitement—it’s Tuberculosis. Each breath is a battle. Each day is a question. At 14, you shouldn’t be learning the language of sickness, the taste of medicine, the sound of worry in your family’s voices.
I remember it all. The weakness. The fear. The feeling that this might be it.
But God…
He doesn’t always take you out of the storm, but He promises to be in the boat with you. And He was. He saw me through TB. I breathed easy again. I thought the war was over.
Then, just as I began my undergraduate studies, another battle began: Pneumonia. It wasn’t a one-time illness. It was a shadow that followed me, a recurring whisper of weakness through what should have been the most vibrant years of my youth. While my friends were thinking about lectures and dreams, I was often thinking about my next breath, my next dose, my next recovery. Every semester was a fight. Every exam season came with a cough.
Yet, in that long, weary tunnel of my undergrad years, God’s faithfulness was the only steady light. He didn’t remove the struggle, but He gave me the strength to sit for the exam, to write the paper, to show up even when I wanted to give up. He saw me through again.
Here I am today. Alive. A graduate. Breathing deeply. Grateful.
On 5th January, I celebrate more than a birthday. I celebrate victories I didn’t win alone. I celebrate the stubborn grace that said “not yet” to sickness and “yes” to life, over and over again.
This year, my celebration is an act of remembrance and a reach of hope. I want to personally support someone who is currently in the fight I know so well—the fight against Tuberculosis. I want to look them in the eye (even if through a screen) and tell them what I needed to hear: “You are not alone. God is with you in this. He will see you through.”
If this post finds you, or someone you love, in that difficult place, please know this: your current chapter is not the end of your story. There is hope after the diagnosis. There is strength in the struggle. There is life, full and deep, waiting on the other side.
I offer my story as a testament. Hold on.
Pray with me. Share this hope.