A Short Eulogy for Adhit

Life is full of surprises.

First met Adhit in October 2013, attending the 13th TIF World Congress in Abu Dhabi. He was my roommate, and again in 2015 when we attended the 2nd Pan-Asian Conference on Hemoglobinopathies in Hanoi.

Being roughly the same age and fellow Thal patients, on top of having the same sense of humor, we clicked instantaneously.

Opening up to someone about the struggle of being thallasemic is something that I always had a trouble with, and, as a result, I shy away from talking about my agony and misery to anyone (especially when most of your friends, at least in our teenage years and early 20s, don't have the capacity for digesting pathos and are more interested in seeking short-term pleasure, which is understandable given that many are mere victims of inexorable peer pressure, severe narcissism, and hellish hedonism). "What for? They won't get it anyways."

But Adhit was one of the VERY few people that understood, that I can relate to, and, in turn, HE can relate to me. In our discussions, we talked about coping with losses, accepting our physical flaws which stem from our health condition, dealing with bullies, empowering each other, and our future...

I told him that I had to narrow down my circle of "hospital friends", not because I was trying to be anti-social, distant, and such, but due to emotional trauma of constantly losing people I cared about. I've lost so many. I can't afford to lose more... He, to my surprise, understood where I came from. He too had lost so many... We were just twenty or so at that time, yet we had witnessed far too many deaths and way too much suffering (perhaps as much as a child soldier in a war-stricken area would).

Adhit, however, was different. He was a shining beacon in the dark. He was a bundle of positivity who brought joy to everyone around him. Inspired by our Afghani and British friends that we had met at the World Congress, Adhit co-founded the Thalassemia Movement. He brought together Thal patients from all over the country and gave them voices. Through the transformative and positive power of the group, he and his team seek to alleviate as much suffering and torment that ail many Thal patients while at the same time working towards their number one goal: eradicating Thalassemia altogether through campaigns, social media works, and many other activities.

He offered me to join the org, but I had to decline, unfortunately. Yet, we remained great friends, even till his passing on Tuesday morning. He was 31.

He said he was gonna come to our soft opening but couldn't since he got hospitalized. "Survive and come to the grand opening lah," I told him. "Yea, yea," he said.

Life is full of suprises; some are pleasant, some are abysmal.

In my 30 years of existence, I've attended countless funerals, and even more so these past few years. So many that I lost count. A few of them were the parents or grandparents of people I know who died of old age, and in extreme cases, accidents. But most were my hospital buddies. It was saddening, of course, yet these days tears would no longer stream down. Perhaps it's because I'm so used to it that I barely feel anything anymore.

However, Adhit's death was different. Upon hearing his passing on Tuesday morning, I felt something that I hadn't felt in a long time, something that I remember having back when I was still in high school, that was when a friend of mine, Paresh, passed away.

It was abject desperation and anguish. I was utterly shocked and, beyond anything else, wretched.

Adhit was one of the very few people that I can still relate to. He was one of the very few patients my age I know that still remain. But, now, he's gone...

We were gonna go to Hanoi again once the pandemic is over. We were gonna go to Japan together someday.

Life is a journey. A journey is a life. Adhit's journey has ended. It's painful for me and everyone whose life he touched, no doubt. But we have to move forward --- I have to move forward. Because only by doing so can we carry his legacy and only by doing so can HE live inside us.

"When do people die? When they are shot through the heart by the bullet of a pistol? No. When they drink a soup made from a poisonous mushroom? No. When they are ravaged by an incurable disease? NO. It's when they are forgotten."

Thank you for everything, dude. You'll sorrly be missed. Till we meet again.