Hah. Hah. Her breathing shortened by the minute.  Hah, hah. Her inhaler clutched in her hand, not able to give enough air, sweat dribbled down her forehead as a sea serpent had unexpectedly slid around her body, with its tail going up to her throat, and then drowning her. And yet, the whole world was there, running away from the monster attacking a mom of two. There was a spotlight on her, yet no one cared to watch. I was one of that “no one,” not that I didn’t care enough, but that I didn’t know how to react. Just a few days ago we were touring around Europe, awing in the site of arts and buildings, and now all our eyes were on her. 
        “Don’t speak too much,” her daughter said.  
        Her son fanned her, trying to calm her down.  
        “It’s okay,” my dad said. 
        We were stuck on a train, hundreds of people in their own, little world, not caring to look at others. Like they were those people who believed they were the center of everything. They didn’t care to see what they were revolving around, the comets flying and bashing down other planets.  
        My mom’s friend picked up her inhaler and started wheezing, slowly gasping for the air, shoving all the air left in the inhaler in her. It was a déjà vu moment.  
        It was 4th grade.  
        “I can’t breathe,” I tried to tell my nani.  
        She gave me a glass of water.  
        It was the last week of school and nothing had been going wrong. 
        “Phone, PHONE!” I yelled at her.  
        But I guess nothing can go totally right in this world.  
        I dialed my mom’s number, feeling like I was on the threshold of fainting any minute.  
        “Take a bath,” she told me. 
        At that time, I didn’t know I had asthma, so I did take a bath. And nine calls later, my dad working one hour away decided to come.  
        Hah, hah. The only thing I could say. And it was happening again, hah, hah, the sounds my mom’s friend breathed out. Like a sea serpent had clamped her throat and again, everyone else was in their own little world.  
I wanted to scream at them, “Help her!” but I also had my own serpent covering up my mouth. 
I suddenly came back to reality, but I was there, distressed, with my eyes wide open and tears swelling up inside of me, my throat felt stuffed, but I was trying to hold back the past and let go. As I walked on over to her, the only thing I could focus on was how her eyes were welled up with tears, softly crying, softly breathing.  
        “Breathe in and out,” I remember the doctor telling me.  
        I wheezed and started coughing as the doctor tried to calm me down.  
        “She has asthma,” the doctor’s words echoed in my head.  
        Asthma, the words kept hammering into me.  
        “She has a high fever too,” the doctor added.  
        But the word asthma kept repeating inside of me. The look on my mom and dad’s face, like they knew I wouldn’t be able to live the normal life I had wanted because of all my medical conditions. Like they had their own sea serpent, not choking their necks, but just slithering around them, blinding them from what could have been.  
        “We can ask the train to stop,” my mom said. “We’ll take you to a hospital.” 
        “N-no,” she said. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes, just wait,” 
        Another feeling of déjà vu came back to me.  
        “Are you ok?” my friend ran to me as we were running around, seeing me wheezing again, and the serpent crept up to me.  
        It was the last day of school when we were playing around. My inhaler was at home, so I had to just wait.  
        “I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” I told her.  
        I walked away about to cry, not because it hurt, but because I couldn’t do one thing without feeling like the serpent was grasping me out of nowhere. Like my own world was getting demolished by comets.  
        Her breathing stabilized. She took a small breath and closed her eyes, softly, like Sleeping Beauty. There was a glimmer of sweat shining on her forehead, while her inhaler was clasped lightly in her hands. She fell asleep and we let her lay there, but everyone was still in their own little world.  
        “Wear this,” the doctor had told me.  
        It looked like a ventilator. I had to wear a mask type of thing, connected to a pipe, which was connected to something that gave me air. I remember it all, feeling at peace, my sweat lightly covering up my face, wanting to sleep again, but only to realize that once again, I always needed something at my side. I always needed something to grasp me, be part of me, carry me like I was paralyzed and couldn’t do a thing.  
        “I’ll help you,” I feel like it would say to me, “Because you can’t help yourself.” 
        Everyone thinks Asthma isn’t something that serious, but they haven’t lived through it. 
        And as I saw her face, I realized she never had the life she wanted. Maybe she was once that kid to run across thousands of fields, all dirty and soiled, but still pushing through it all, like she was bashing down all the barriers until the sea serpent took her down to the ocean, a place where you can’t breathe and you’re drowning. Maybe she knew how to swim but would always be carried down. She kept pushing through till the point she realized swimming wouldn’t help, and now she let herself be at peace with the water overfilling her lungs, the pain slithering all over her, and she decided one day she could go to the surface. She wasn’t made for the water, but she couldn’t let herself drown.