Sweet Sixteen

Maggie Aghababyan (9) STAFF REPORTER

Sixteen years old. The doctors told me that’s how old I’ll be when I die. I was still scared.

Fifteen was when I first found out my due date. Knowing the day you’ll die seems like a relief to many; the burden of ignorance is too much to some. But when you find out only a single year in advance? Different story. I was still scared.

Fourteen was when it got bad. It was December of 2012 when I had caught a cold. To those who do not know, a cold is no big deal to anyone healthy, but to someone like me, it was life-threatening. I had to go to the doctor, my parents being as paranoid as they were. Then they found more complications with my autoimmune system. I was still scared.

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Thirteen is when I got my first girlfriend. I met her in art class and we went to the same girls’ school – Mother Mary’s School for girls. She knew of my illness but she didn’t care. We broke up a few months later. I was still scared.

Ten is when I fully began realizing my situation. I became scared.

Four is when I was diagnosed with Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, AIDs. Being basically a toddler, an age limit didn’t seem too severe, especially when they told me I’d live until I was at least fifty years old. I was confused.

Today, January Sixteenth, is my last day on earth, as the doctors have told me. It’s up to fate now whether I wake up tomorrow, but my only regret is living my life in fear of this day, holding myself back from all the opportunities I had missed out on because I let my sickness hold me back. I may still be scared, but more than so, I am grateful to have lived my life.