Rarely is there something that kills my day. But the thing that does is simply allergies.

Once my nose starts running like a leaky faucet. There is nothing more. My nose is itchy. My eyes watery. I want to lie down and disappear, wishing the uncomfortable feeling to go away.

And yet, I have been having horrible hay fever ever since I was a teenager. Coping is all that I can do.

I remember distinctly one of my birthdays at Chevys where they gave me a Mexican hat. My nose was drippy and I couldn’t see straight as the waiters sang happy birthday to me. I smiled despite some sneezes in succession.

In high school, I became smart and would carry portable kleenex with me. Yet, there were times that I was stranded without any. And in a stage where I feared getting out of my seat to go to the restroom, I would put my head on my arm on my desk—trying to hide the fact that I was letting my runny nose be soaked up by my sleeve.

But with this Chinese diligence running through me, I have rarely put aside days because of allergies. I would drown my sorrows through kleenex and medications that only worked 50% of the time. Then I would lie down with a wet towel on my face, in hopes that humidity would cure my ailment.

And today, as I worked on the farm, it acted up again. My nose ran. I went through half of my portable kleenex. And the sneezing…letting my lungs ache. But I charged on, weeding the corn and the squash. Looking back, it was ridiculous. But I kept everything to myself. It was the best I could do.