The next day, you are not.
One day, you are active.
The next day, your world shrinks to a room, a bed, a waiting chair.
One day, time feels generous.
The next day, you count days. Then hours. Then minutes.
One day, you have savings.
The next day, you watch them dissolve into receipts, lab results, hospital corridors.
One day, you are still with them.
The next day, you speak to photographs and silence.
This is how fast life turns.
Yes, this should make us demand better healthcare for the country. That matters.
But before policy debates and grand solutions, there is a quieter truth we often avoid.
We are more fragile than we admit.
And preparation is not pessimism. It is respect for reality.
Prepare your body, not just your career.
Prepare your finances, not just your lifestyle.
Prepare your mind for the fact that strength is temporary, dignity should not be.
Do it for yourself.
And do it for the people who would have to carry you, wait for you, or remember you.
Because preparedness does not prevent loss.
It prevents panic.
And when life inevitably takes something away, preparation gives you one thing back.
Choice.
That is the difference between surviving and breaking