I live in a wheelchair.
My wheelchair and I share a bond.
I am attached to it like a lover.
Without it, I can’t travel.
My wheelchair is not the expensive kind.
It is not the Lamborghini of wheelchairs.
It is more like a Toyota Corolla—
a manual chair I have to wheel myself.
It gives me freedom from the bed
I was confined to before it arrived.
Life was boring before the wheelchair.
Now I can move about the house.
The three rooms I travel through in this house
are my bedroom, my study, and the dining room.
I don’t go to the veranda, as it is hot there.
I watch our garden and fishpond from my study.
Sitting in the wheelchair, I can read, write, type.
I can browse the web, send and answer emails,
write stories, essays, poems for my blog.
These were not possible before I got the wheelchair.
My wheelchair gives me a purpose in life.
It tells me that I can do many things.
It encourages me to stay positive and happy,
even with eighty percent of my body paralyzed.
I am happy and content; I don’t blame fate.
I live my life as best as I can.
My brother and family support me and keep me stable.
My wheelchair helps reduce my brother’s burden.
I can’t imagine going back to bed.
I can’t imagine life without Internet access.
I can’t imagine a life without words.
I can’t imagine a life without my wheelchair.
