Distraught sickness.

What could you do differently?

Many days had passed since I closed the telepathic doors for good. Yet, last night, as I was studying French online, an odd scene unfolded in my mind—a distant, orchestrated vision. Someone was boiling water in a kettle, staring at the steam as it rose, gazing through it with an almost meditative intensity. A sense of déjà vu washed over me. How could such a moment manifest?

Then, I remembered—I hadn’t been consistent in my devotion to the divine. That realization struck me hard, as though it had backfired. Now, I must devote myself intensely, especially since my father, who still battles dementia, cannot sleep. I, too, struggle with sleep, perhaps bound by the same invisible thread that ties us together.

The bond between us lingers, as though his unspoken thoughts reach out to me, pondering when he can come home. I can almost sense him—the fresh scent of his post-bath cleanliness, eating breakfast at the special home where he now stays. His dementia casts a shadow, compelling me to seek divine intervention to ease his restless nights. My mission is to help him stop overthinking and focus on becoming independent and mobile again, encouraging him to exercise.

But the worst is yet to come. I recall the green hex ring’s beholder—one who shamelessly performed a camphor fire ritual one evening between 6:21 and 6:29 p.m., seemingly entwined with the cowardly wolf who flees as though hindered by his own legs.

This figure entered the scene through a secondhand cigarette’s smoky veil, ignoring the urgent advice that arrived in its wake.

My forehead burned intensely, a scorching pain that seemed to reveal the hand behind these actions. RN came to mind, her futile prayers to her ancestors offering no solace. At the rate she’s going, she may one day find herself by a coffin—just as I feel as though I’m already trapped in one.

A nameless wooden box awaits the “cuniyam,” the distraught sickness that persists despite the signs. The fire, the smoke, the omens—they all align in an intricate web. Yet, I resolve to correct the trajectory, aligning myself with divine intervention, for there is no other way forward.