DAY 7
It has been three days since I returned home from Malaysia, and I am slowly recovering. For the first two days after arriving in Manila, my body was almost useless. I literally collapsed on my sofa, my head feeling like it was going to pop. I had a massive headache, a cough, a cold, and a high fever. It felt like my body was being purged. There was nothing I could do but sleep. Believe me, I have been pushed to exhaustion before, but nothing compares to this. It felt like I was dying.
A week earlier, I had the privilege of joining a Kriya Yoga program in Kedah, Malaysia. A friend invited me, and although I was reluctant at first, I eventually decided to register. I had no idea what to expect, but I had a strong feeling it wouldn’t be pleasant. Two weeks before my flight to Malaysia, my anxiety was at an all-time high. I had trouble sleeping, palpitations, and my mouth would often run dry. I felt unprepared, wasn’t practicing the required kriya (Shambhavi Mahamudra) in preparation for the program, there’s so much going on with my video production business and was eating compulsively out of stress. I was uninspired and overloaded. Despite this, I decided to “jump into the fire.” I told myself, “If I wait until I’m ready, that moment may never come.” So, I mustered enough courage and went, heedlessly.
DAY 0
This was my second time traveling alone, and I felt both thrilled and nervous. However, it was also my second visit to Malaysia, so there was already a sense of familiarity. Upon arriving at the Malaysian airport, I spotted someone carrying a yoga mat. Shyly, I asked if he was heading to the same program. Indeed, he was. We started talking in English, but soon realized that we were both Filipino. His name was Kevin Howard—sounded like a name for a Hollywood actor or a basketball player. He was very friendly, and my anxiety cooled down, at least for a while. As we marched out of the airport, it felt like I was about to start a Navy SEAL Hell Week program, and even Kevin had no idea what to expect.
Kevin and I met the others in a van that would take us to the venue. It was very early in the morning, and everyone seemed to want to rest, so it was a quiet five-hour drive. We made a quick stop for breakfast, giving me a chance to get to know some of my fellow travelers. As expected, they were all from Malaysia and very welcoming. After eating, I headed straight back to the van to get more rest.
DAY 1
Upon arrival at the ashram around 10 a.m., I was already having second thoughts and considering backing out. I found it hard to smile at people, but after a while, it felt unnecessary. Most of them greeted with a namaskar, and that was enough. The strict atmosphere of the ashram felt stifling. I wondered, “How can everyone be so serious?” We were instructed to work on our homework while they finished preparing for registration.
A few hours later, the registration opened, and my heart started to race. They took our phones and even the bread I had bought at the airport. There was a strict schedule to follow, and we weren’t allowed to sleep just yet. Not even three hours into the first day, and I was already wondering how I would survive this.
The following hours were quite uneventful. I felt relieved when I finally got to our room. I continued working on my homework, which involved recounting all the highs and lows in my life and writing them in a journal. I knew this activity was serious, so I took my time, even creating artwork to accompany my writing. I used a sketchpad to scribble and write about the significant moments in my life. Halfway through, I realized that there were too many events to cover in detail, so I opted to sketch most of them or write keywords that held meaning for me. Most of what I wrote only I could understand, like the end page of a nursery notebook filled with random thoughts and doodles. My illustrations were more like doodles, but I put effort into them, using colored pencils and enjoying the artistic expression.
I tried to remember everything from the beginning, with my earliest memories being getting my head stuck in our porch gate in kindergarten and throwing up in the car, staining my favorite shorts.
The first day at the ashram was the calm before the storm. I was still very anxious and wanted to leave. It felt like a prison, a training camp, preparing me for war. I struggled to adjust to the silence and manage my compulsions. The anticipation was unbearable. I even wished I wasn’t sharing a room, but when my roommates arrived, it was a relief. They were very nice. Mei, a Taiwanese managing his family’s alternative medicine pharmacy, brought two huge pieces of luggage. He looked like a simple guy but seemed wealthy. The other roommate was an Indian who grew up in Malaysia and worked as an accounting professor. He gave me tips on the cheapest places to buy gadgets in KL. He had a severe skin disease and couldn’t stop scratching himself. Unfortunately, I forgot his name.
DAY 2
The next day, we woke up very early to the sound of a gong. Whether it was adrenaline or something else, I felt pumped and ready to go. Little did I know, this was the beginning of what I had been nervous about. The early morning meditation was so intense that all I could think was, “Oh boy, here we go!”
The meditation was so powerful it felt like my skull was cracking, from between my eyebrows to the back of my neck. As we pressed on, it felt like the top of my head was being removed. I felt this slit in my forehead that felt like you could drop a coin. It was throbbing, and the experience was far from pleasant. I felt nauseous and had a headache. At times, I think I was gnashing my teeth as things started to blur. It was literally blowing my mind. There were moments when I felt like I lost my body and became pure sound—a thunderous sound. I must admit, it was scary. I could hear others around me seemingly losing it too so I continued on .
I remembered what the guru said before we began: we didn’t have to worry because there was a safety net. I didn’t know what he meant by saying that. Whatever that meant, it reassured me that what we were doing was safe. The guru had described this program as a roller coaster ride, and he was right. It felt like a storm was raging inside me, stirring me from within.
After the meditation, I felt high and lightheaded, as if my face was being stretched from the sides. For the first time, I saw a different side of the guru, far from his usual light and comic demeanor. That morning, I felt his overwhelming power.
The guru, popularly known as Sadhguru, had initiated me into kriya yoga in 2023, although I had attended his base program (inner engineering) way back in 2020. I am devoted to him, but not in the way many others might be. I don’t have a strong desire to see him in person or idolize him. I see him more as a parent. Like a dad, I wish to be with him from time to time but not all the time. That might be an unpopular position, but I’m not overly fanatic.
Sadhguru is very present in our lives, sending us messages, advice, stories, programs, even his poetry and art every single day through his app. It’s almost like having a parent who is constantly in touch. Often, I ignore his messages because they are so frequent. It feels like he wants to be with me all the time and won’t let go. Like a parent, I wish to do things my way, but when things go wrong, his wisdom shines through, and I come crying to him. I don’t feel distant from him; in fact, I feel so connected that I feel that there’s no way to hide from him. That morning meditation was no different—he was still a parent, authoritatively teaching me something.
Fortunately, after the morning meditation, we had some physical activity, including a running relay, which helped me feel grounded again. I was no longer feeling like I was floating. As I reflected on it, I realized how well-planned the lineup of activities was. Everything was meticulously scheduled, from meditation to meals, sleep, and even toilet breaks. Slowly, I understood the need for such order and why it was necessary to keep the integrity of the ashram.
The relay was really fun. I wanted to run more, feeling a bit cocky. It brought back nostalgia from my days as a former long distance runner varsity. I was proud to run as my shoes got lose but still staying ahead of the pack. I really smoked them. I was so psyched, and my anxiety dissipated—at least for a while.
In the afternoon, I didn’t expect anything intense. I thought the morning meditation was the the summit. But just as I was about to relax, the next activity caught me off guard. The guru’s instructions were to stretch our bodies in cadence with the music. Unsure of the right way to do it, I laughed at myself, trying to mimic the demo but felt awkward. I have never danced in my life. So, I ended up stretching as I would before a run.
The music played was haunting, cathartic, and visceral, reminiscent of traditional Chinese music. It felt soothing, so I went with the flow. With limited dance moves, I often found myself thinking about what step to do next. This was probably the only time I had ever danced. Deep inside, I was telling myself, “I wish they made me sing instead.” I jogged in place, trying to feel the sensations in my body as instructed by the guru.
After a while, the music changed to an ’80s African disco vibe. It felt pleasant at first, but with my eyes closed for too long, everything started to feel chaotic. A rush of instruments played simultaneously, and ironically, I liked this pandemonium even more. The music was so loud it felt like I was merging into it. As it progressed, I lost track of the myself and others, becoming completely immersed.
I heard people howling, screaming, and even crying. I felt nauseous and my stomach churned. The exotic tune engulfed me, and I grew tired. It felt as though something inside me was trying to break free, and my anxiety began to rise. I was on the verge of panicking, feeling like I was losing control. To ground myself, I threw my best moves on the dance floor, which helped me regain a sense of stability. I rocked out; headbanged and air guitared. When it finally ended, I felt a profound relief. It was probably the longest I had ever danced in my life. I have to admit, I felt a bit confident afterward, thinking I had unlocked a new skill.
After the disco fiasco, I hoped that would be the end of it. What else could they make us do? I was hoping the next activity would be lighter and more contemplative. To me, what we had done so far was intense enough. After a brief break, we jumped into the next activity.
The next session involved sharing our homework. I felt hesitant and shy, but I decided to open up. I shared my feelings about entering the program and the resistance I had experienced. I felt as if something within me was dying or changing irreversibly. True to form, the topic was once again about death. I honestly felt depressed. Who wouldn’t be, knowing that their days might be numbered? I wanted to go home. We were told we had only 48 hours left to live. What were the volunteers going to do to us?
When faced with the reality of death, it’s always a sink-or-swim situation for me. Death feels like an immovable force, and there’s not much I can do about it. So, I decided to swim with all my might. At that moment, I gathered my strength and jumped back into the fire. I nervously confronted this second death and continued forward, as all my fears came to the surface.
We were paired up to share our homework. My first partner was Jim, whom I had met on the van. Even before I began sharing, he was already teary-eyed. It felt strange to look into his eyes as tears streamed down while I calmly recounted my life’s story. I was surprised that my story affected him so deeply. To me, it felt like just a regular story, almost as if I were recounting someone else’s life. Jim’s attentive listening and empathy truly touched me. Not even one of my closest friends had ever shed a tear while I shared my story before.
My second partner seemed neutral, and I wondered if he was even understanding what I was saying. It felt like nothing out of the ordinary, possibly due to a language barrier. He rarely made eye contact, and when he did, his gaze seemed blank.
The third partner was Arthur. He looked me in the eye, and I felt that what I was sharing truly resonated with him. We had very similar experiences, and it felt like Arthur was a little brother to me. I could sense the pain and loneliness in him, which made me feel like inviting him out for a drink once everything was over. The connection between us was strong and genuine.
After a while, my personal story seemed insignificant compared to the stories I heard from others. Their experiences were deeply inspiring and encouraging. I enjoy hearing people’s stories because they offer insights into navigating life, and it was reassuring to know I wasn’t alone in facing death. On the lighter side, I did feel a bit self-conscious about our stinky breath, but it was a minor concern.
Sadhguru asked us to write down 12 wishes. I wrote mundane ones, like wanting more savings to develop our farm and video production business. In contrast, many others wished for spiritual growth and enlightenment. I also shared that I’d write letters to my loved ones, including my parents, my cat, my enemies, and all my exes—which made some people giggle. I noticed my name tag was turned the other way, showing a blank side. This made me reflect on the idea that I came with a name or a persona but might leave with a blank slate—a clean slate.
When the guru emphasized that we would be dying within two days, we were asked to reconsider how this would impact our wishes. The first thing that came to mind was to write to the people who had touched my life. To my surprise, this turned out to be the next activity.
We were instructed to write to someone we held dear. At this point, everyone was crying. I thought to myself, “Yes, I made it. We made it.” This program was truly unfolding for us all. My partner, a large Indian man, was also sobbing. I held his hands as tears flowed around us. When he could no longer hold back, he stood up and embraced me tightly. I patted his back in consolation, nurturing him like a mother as tears trickle in our shoulders. It felt incredibly comforting, as if I were also consoling myself. I held him close, feeling as though we are one.
I embraced my partner with deep affection, channeling all my emotions as if he were the person I had written to—my mom. “You are my enlightenment,” I had written in my letter to her. That line brought me to tears, as if a dam had burst, with tears gushing down my cheeks. The image of her in my mind would forever stay with me, holding both the happiest and saddest of emotions.
After a while, I became aware of the physical discomfort of our close proximity, so I adjusted my position to avoid pressing my crotch against his thigh, while allowing his to remain close. Despite this, the moment remained deeply touching. A few minutes later, we engaged in a group hug. With soothing music playing, we swayed to the rhythm, feeling as if we were flowers drifting on a calm lake. In that moment, we were truly one.
Before dinner, they played Hare Krishna music, and everyone danced with abandon. I jumped and moved so frantically that it felt like my leg might break. At dinner, I eagerly awaited the pickle they promised to serve. Some say it’s a pickle but I’m really not sure. They provided it in small quantities, and I enjoyed mixing it with the rest of my food. The pickle was salty and enhanced the flavors of the meal. It was so delicious that I wished I had the recipe. I thoroughly enjoyed everything on my plate. I also recall that everyone chanted before we began eating. Not knowing the chant, I mouthed along, glancing at others to follow their lead. I was laughing at myself.
DAY 3
The next morning, I braced myself for another powerful meditation session, expecting it to be as mind-altering as the previous day’s. However, this one was surprisingly relaxing—so much so that many of us ended up falling into a deep sleep. I thought to myself, “Whew! It’s going to be a breeze from now on.” But I spoke too soon; it turned out to be just another calm before the storm.
Next, we played dodgeball. I managed to hit two people and thought I did well, though nothing particularly special happened. I anticipated another emotional session, but what followed was quite different.
They made us scream as if our lives depended on it. I was thrilled—I love shouting. I screamed with all my might, channeling my inner Chino Moreno. I got so fired up that I didn’t even notice I was bouncing on my feet, as if ready for a boxing fight. It reminded me of my time in a band, when screaming was a form of singing for me. It felt incredibly liberating. But that wasn’t the most intense part. The next activity was almost more than I could handle—perhaps it even pushed me to my limits.
The screams were a prelude to what was coming. This meditation didn’t just crack my skull; it shattered everything within me. It was like a tornado—of wind, rain, and fire. Burning and washing all my insides. I poured all my energy into it, following the guru’s instructions to the letter. I no longer care if I damaged my lungs or vocals; I screamed until my voice was gone. I had never felt so parched in my life. It felt as though a raging fire was consuming me from the inside. I nearly felt like throwing up again. The pressure was overwhelming, I was so close to shitting my pants; it felt as if every hole in my body was about to burst. I was on the verge of collapsing or breaking down, and I told myself to hold on—if I gave in, it would all be over; especially if I shit my pants. My legs were weakening, but I remembered the guru’s advice to focus on the sensation between the eyebrows. Doing so brought me a surprising sense of balance amid the chaos. It felt as though that point was the top of a mountain, with all the turmoil happening below it. Even though I was on the edge of giving up, focusing my attention on that spot miraculously helped me move on.
I thought, “This is hell.” I can no longer describe how it felt like my insides are boiling. My mouth was so dry, and I was breathing heavily. My body ached all over. I remember thinking, “Oh my God, so this is how they’re going to break us.” The guru had warned us that we would face death, and I was beginning to feel it. My inner “Pearl” was going rabid.
I was utterly spent and felt like I had nothing left. But it wasn’t over yet. We had to dance again, and I did. I’m not sure how I managed it, but I was able to push through. Fortunately, I didn’t throw up or lose control of my bodily functions. This time, I felt like I could bust out more silly dance moves. I don’t know how I kept going, but I continued focusing on the area between my eyebrows whenever I felt like giving up. That focus helped me push through every time. It was like an oasis in the middle of a scorching desert. At this point, I felt not just cracked but totally obliterated. I told myself, “OK this how I die; I dance myself to death.”
When it was all over, I was astonished I had managed to hold on. We were instructed to face each other once more. I faced Frans, who had been with me in the van, so I knew him a bit. Following the guru’s instructions, I could sense what was coming. We were asked to ask our partners, “Who are you?” with intense fervor. I shouted the question as much as I could until my voice gave out. As I shook his shoulders vehemently, I could see in Frans’s eyes that he seemed to be losing his grip, scanning the room as if searching for something to ground him.
When it was his turn to question me, I simply looked into his eyes. I felt utterly exhausted that the ensuing chaos was no longer bothering me. I maintained a steady gaze, with a razing intensity. Despite the non-stop bombardment, this time, I felt more in control. I also noticed that by this point, we were all getting pretty smelly. If I had known earlier, I would have packed fewer clothes. Most people seemed to skip showers, but I showered daily out of obligation. In hindsight, I might have skipped a few showers myself; not showering felt oddly like a mark of a productive day at least to me.
There are no words to describe what happened next. I had lost my voice, but strangely, I felt energized. Perhaps it was the relief of having it over with. I felt so full that, when it was time for lunch, I wasn’t quite ready to eat.
At lunch, I signaled to the volunteers to give me just a small portion of each dish since I was still reeling from the recent meditation. But when the pickle was served again, it was like Goku’s senzu bean—it rejuvenated me completely. I found myself wondering, “What on earth did they put in this dish?” It revived my appetite and gave me a second wind for the day. I had never experienced such a burst of energy from food before.
As I ate, I wondered if there was some kind of magic involved in its preparation. Then they served us this ball of brown sugar. When I tasted it, it felt like an explosion of pleasure – almost orgasmic. It was sweet, with a nutty flavor that melted in my mouth. I’m a sucker for sweets, so this was a real treat. We, my fellow travelers, discussed this on the van ride home, but I forgotten name of this dessert. It seemed that everyone experienced the same ecstatic reaction from eating this.
After the meal, we took a short walk around the ashram, where I met Syankaran. I started a casual conversation, commenting, “You have the nicest socks among all of us.” He had these adorable, colorful socks. He mentioned that they were packed by his wife. We had a good conversation, during which he shared that he preferred this day over yesterday.
I couldn’t say the same. For me, these two days were more like a punishment. When I recounted my experience from yesterday’s morning meditation, explaining how it felt like I had a huge crack in my skull, he told me it was a blessing. I was puzzled and replied, “How can that be? I didn’t find it pleasant.” Syankaran responded, “Sadhguru blessed you.” I was taken aback. Despite my confusion, his words touched me deeply. I felt tears welling up, but I managed to keep them at bay as we continued our conversation.
I don’t know why, but shedding a tear has become surprisingly easy for me. This began when I started practicing Isha Kriya back in 2020. Even as I write this, I had to pause because I felt tears streaming on my face. Sometimes, I cry unexpectedly—whether it’s from listening to music, watching a movie, driving a car, even doing shopping, anything at all.
I approach my sadhana more through sensing and feeling rather than intellectualizing. I admit I’m not the brightest bulb. While I find it challenging to dissect things technically, I seem to grasp much more through experience. That’s why others see me as stubborn and unmanageable, but I like to see things myself first before anything else. I don’t have extensive knowledge about spirituality, I avoid saying the term even, but I’ve lived through a lot. Despite the troubles I’ve faced, the lightness these programs have brought into my life feels like a taste of heaven. That’s what I’m here for.
I’m not driven by a quest for enlightenment; rather, I simply want to live this new life that, while still imperfect, is much more manageable than before. Hearing that the guru had blessed me really resonated with me, especially given my background. I’m like the prodigal son, finding redemption after a tumultuous past.
During the break, Jim approached me and remarked, “You seem so calm, even after everything you’ve been through,” I smiled and responded, “Me? No, it only seems that way. If you could see inside, you’d find a hurricane.”
The next activity was quite unique: we had to gaze at the person in front of us. This continued for a while, and among everyone who came up, I locked eyes with an Indian man who stared at me intently. Although I never learned his name, I later approached him, hugged him, and said, “Hey man, I feel like I’ve known you before.” He responded with the same sentiment. I felt a deep connection with him, especially since we were both long distance runners in our past. I even joke around him at the dining hall since he is now seated on the table and chair away from the sangha and together with the seniors. I whisper to him “Since when did you become part of the VIP?” “Terrible back pain” he says, and we start laughing.
Another person who caught my gaze was the “screamer” volunteer (or at least that’s what I heard others call him). I stared at him intensely, like Superman with his laser vision. This made me question myself briefly—was I so off-putting that people cried at the mere sight of me? But I didn’t dwell on it. The volunteer, cried intensely as I continued melting him with my laser-like stare. After this activity, it felt like my attention had become sharper and more piercing.
But it wasn’t over yet. We were paired up again, and this time I found myself with another volunteer screamer. He seemed a bit intimidating, almost like a wild, untamed beast. His demonic laughter occasionally echoed as he stood before me. However, my initial impressions quickly faded. As we held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes, I saw a gentle soul within him. His tears began to fall, and though I wondered if I appeared as frightening to him as he did to me, it was actually quite comforting. It felt as though he could see into my darkest places and understand the pain I had endured. It was reassuring to know that someone was there with me, sharing in those moments when my misery felt too overwhelming.
Just like the previous day, we formed another circle and danced and swayed to the music. Suddenly, I stepped on something wet and cold. Despite knowing it was against the rules to open my eyes, I glanced to see what it is. Inches away, I saw my partner face across me; the one from yesterday’s homework session—the one who had seemed neutral. His nose was dripping with mucus and tears flowed down his face, not with sadness but with bliss. Seeing this, I forgot about what I was stepping on and continued to dance.
At night, there was a large bonfire where we burned our homework journals. I felt a pang of emotion, especially as I watched my sketchpad go up in flames. The pad contained drawings of wolves, owls, centipedes, dragons, warriors, Spartans, and samurais—symbols of strength and wisdom that had supported me during tough times. Seeing it burn was a powerful moment of release and letting go.
DAY 4
I woke up to the sound of people chatting in the hallway. There was no water in the toilet. I panicked; how will I be able to hold all the shit I had from yesterday? So, I went out of our room to look for a toilet. All the toilets were used. I’m not brave enough to add more dump to what is there, so I just went to the session, regardless. As I entered the session hall, the sound of the guitar playing calmed me. To add to that, I noticed the arrangement and I immediately knew that the morning session won’t be as physically intense. After three days in the ashram, I’ve somehow figured out what will happen just by looking at how the session hall is arranged. If the session hall is empty, no chairs, no cushions, no carpets and all volunteers are inside, boy you are in for a ride. But that morning, they had chairs arranged at the center.
That morning, we were asked to focus on a groundnut that is resting in our palm. This exercise felt deeply meaningful to me, especially when the guru described it as a “willing life ready to nurture me.” It struck me how often the guru articulates thoughts and feelings that many of us already sense but cannot fully express.
It’s a bit perplexing, but also enlightening. Sometimes, when the guru speaks, he articulates something I’ve felt or thought but couldn’t quite put into words. For instance, when he described the groundnut as a willing life, I was reminded of my experiences with slicing ginger and turmeric for tea. I often noticed the orange stains on my fingers from the turmeric. Focusing on that, I realized how blessed I felt to have those ingredients. The guru’s description helped me understand my feelings about those moments, something I previously couldn’t articulate.
This session deeply moved me because it clarified something I hadn’t fully grasped before: the concept that life sustains life. While that might not be the perfect interpretation, it’s how I understood it. The guru has a unique ability to articulate such profound insights so fluidly and hearing him always feels like a eureka moment.
At this point, we were asked to in complete silence. Unlike my initial experience at the ashram, where silence felt like a punishment, I now found it to be a welcome respite. I genuinely enjoyed the quiet.
We were also instructed to select an object and focus all our attention on it. Out of everything available around the ashram, I chose a small piece of stone. I was pleased with my choice, knowing the stone wouldn’t wither, whether I held it or carried it in my pocket. I held it in my hands, immersing myself in its texture, scent, and appearance. It felt like my best friend.
During this moment of stillness, I experienced a strong urge to paint.
The volunteers decided that we take a long break since there was no water that morning. While everyone was busy going to their rooms, I took a detour at the common toilet to finally take a dump. I thought this will be the perfect time since no one is allowed to talk, if someone comes along the toilet they have no choice but to shut up.
Funny, that most of my reflective moments are done in the toilet. Maybe, because after dumping its quite pleasurable, but regardless, this was the point that I realized that I will be missing the people I’ve met, or room, the ashram and even the whole experience. I suddenly felt attached. Luckily, no one entered, and I was left to contemplate for a bit more.
Separation anxiety was lurking within me when just a few hours are left. The program ended rather quickly. Or maybe I was just wanting more. When it was over I took time to hug those who I wasn’t able to interact with. Especially this guy who’s called Kapitan Khoo. I hugged this guy, and he looked so cool like a Chinese Mafia. He was in a hurry telling me, he had no clue that or phones will be surrendered so now he has a lot of catching up to do. I really liked how this guy looked he was for me the coolest among us all.
As we say our last goodbyes, it suddenly came to me that my flight will be tomorrow afternoon and I have yet to book for tonight’s accommodation. Well, yes, I kind of like doing things spontaneously with no plans at all. My plan is just to go with the flow. I have no sim card and data but luckily, Arravind, who’s riding with me back to KL booked me a hotel. I was so touched by his gesture, I told him, “When you come to the Philippines, I bring you to party!” “You have to introduce me the beautiful women!” he replied. “Of course! But when I do you have to close your eyes!” I laughed.
When we arrived in KL center it was so late at night, but thankfully, Jim and Andrew who’s from Malaysia was kind enough to drive me off to my hotel. I knew I will be in good hands.
DAY 5
When I returned to Manila, I was still buzzing with energy. I cleaned the house, took the car to the car wash, and prepared the meals. However, after consuming my usual diet, the initial excitement began to fade. I started to crash. My bubble burst, and I felt an extremely burned out. My legs felt immobile, my arms were stiff, my body ached, and I was losing my voice. I began to feel feverish. While washing the plates, exhaustion overcame me, and I collapsed.
