I just arrived in Split, and instead of the excitement I expected, I was overwhelmed by sickness. Something about the train drained me to the bone. It was eerily similar to when I collapsed in Dubai, my body suddenly betraying me, strength slipping away.
But even in that moment, I was blessed.
I arrived safely. I am about to process my residency soon.
When I felt like I was going to collapse, I stumbled into the first restaurant I could find: Fig.
They were already closed, yet the staff gave me water and sugar to calm my nausea. Later, one of them even offered me a lime juice, insisting it would help, and it did. That simple act of generosity brought me back to myself, enough to eat dinner.
Still shaky, I found another restaurant open: Adriatic Sushi. There, I saw a kabayan. I asked if she could be my server, even though she hesitated, saying she was only an assistant. Eventually, she agreed, and we discovered she was Bisaya too. That small connection felt like home.
The Serbian waiter also noticed my condition and offered me magnesium shots to help. I took one, and he kindly gave me extra to use later.
Sitting at that table, sushi in front of me, kindness surrounding me, I cried quietly. Traveling alone while sick is my greatest fear. In those moments, I miss my mom deeply ~ she always took care of me when I was weak.
This wasn’t the first time. In Spain, I was feverish and exhausted for days.
In Montreal, when my wrist ripped and I needed stitches, I sat alone in Canada’s emergency room. Yet I met fellow Filipino’s who fed me with sushi before and accompanied me to the hospital.
The line was so long, I had to return the next day. I worried about the bill, because I had no insurance then.
But the Jewish doctor who sewed me up showed me grace, she never charged me.
Tonight in Split, that same grace found me again.
Look how blessed I am. Where I am weak, God’s goodness and grace are shown through His people.
