STORYTIME.

This story comes from a recent gift I received from my husband, a pasalubong from a colleague. The moment I saw the packaging, I was taken aback. It was a stark reminder of a lot that’s happened in my life recently.

My auntie passed away from cancer. I’m not one to openly express my feelings on social media, but after enduring panic attacks, nervous breakdowns, and dealing with the toll that stress and health issues have taken on me, I think it’s time to share this. Perhaps, there’s some healing in the telling.

Last year, my mother was undergoing chemotherapy. It was a grueling, painful experience for all of us, and though she’s recovering now, she still undergoes hormone therapy. She had regained her hair, and just when I thought we could all finally breathe easy, I received more devastating news—my brother was diagnosed with cancer early this year.

I’ve tried to keep a low profile about this, pushing away the details because, frankly, it’s been affecting my own health. I hate that this sounds like I’m making it about me, but it’s important to mention the toll it’s taken on me. I ended up in the emergency room three times with symptoms I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Stress was the diagnosis, because I was cleared off all the tests. I won’t be seeing doctors again soon, but there’s an ongoing worry in my chest.

The past few months have felt like living under a dark cloud. I’ve had nightmares, restless nights, and an overwhelming sense of dread. My mind is constantly wandering, contemplating every possible worst-case scenario. Many of these I couldn’t even bear to accept, especially at the beginning.

Hasbunallah wa ni’mal wakeel. Ni’mal maula wa ni’man naseer.
(Allah is Sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs. He is the best protector and the best helper.)

Alhamdulillah, Ramadhan has brought me moments of peace, helping me regain focus and even improving my health. But now that we’ve passed the halfway mark of the holy month, that fear has begun creeping back. It taps, gently at first, then with a little more insistence, as if testing my resolve. And I fear, if I’m not careful, it might rob me of my sanity.

As I held the watch in my hand, I reflected on it multiple times. At first, I couldn’t quite place what it was that soothed me. I had to dive deeper. I visited their Instagram account, read their posts, the stories of what they do, their mission, their vision, and the lives they’ve saved so far. There’s a bittersweetness that accompanies my thoughts about it.

You see, I’ve worked for over 15 years, and for most of that time, I had at least some control over my circumstances. I’ve followed leaders, been a leader, and I’ve experienced beautiful moments of teaching and learning, often at the same time. But this situation… this helplessness, it’s a different kind of grief. I had to stand by and watch my family struggle, powerless, breaking my heart over and over again.

It’s not just my family’s struggles that weigh heavily on me. The plight of Palestine, too, is a constant source of heartache. I find myself unable to say the words, “Keep calm and let Farah handle it” — a little phrase I used to joke about with my team, often teasingly mocked but always meant to soothe my own anxieties. People didn’t always get it; those words were more for me than for anyone else.

But now? I can’t even tell myself those words. And no matter how hard I try, the weight of being a stay-at-home mom during such trying times hits me harder than I ever expected. It feels like my world is beyond my control.

And yet, in that moment, as I looked at the watch again, something shifted. There was a small flicker of relief. I found happiness in it, even though it wasn’t meant for me, not really. The watch wasn’t for me. It was for others. It was part of a greater mission, one that I had no direct hand in. But it made me feel as though, in some way, I had a part to play in something bigger.

I don’t know how to thank the person who gifted it, or how to explain the feeling of gratitude that swelled in me. But I’m deeply moved that such organizations exist. Not only because of the incredible work they do but because they offer opportunities for others to contribute in any way they can, whether directly or indirectly, whether they are affected by the cause or not.

Every time I wear that watch, I feel a glimmer of hope. Even though I can’t be with my mom or brother in the way I’d like, even though my contribution feels small, there are organizations out there that do make a difference for cancer patients. And, more importantly, there are people who buy these watches, people who enable these organizations to keep doing their life-saving work.

It’s a reminder that no matter how little we think we can give, someone somewhere is using that small act to change lives.