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According to Chinese astrology, from mid-February, 2026 will be known as the Year of the Fire Horse. From what I’ve gathered, this occurs only once in 60 years.
I was born in 1966, falling into the category of a Fire Horse. Apparently there are many horse years—gold, water, wood and earth—but the fiery one is rare.
People born under this sign are thought to be strong-willed, stubborn even; honest; optimistic; passionate; energetic and independent, choosing to make their own way rather than following others.
The females were considered to be so disruptive that in distant times, they would be put to death at birth. Isn’t it fascinating how various cultures have felt about womanhood?
So here we are, entering this unusual configuration. Does it mean anything special for those born under this alignment? It seems that it might signify extremes, one way or the other—health being one of the challenges. Looking at that little titbit, I shook my head and wondered.
Just around Christmas day, I was stricken with the flu. I am still under its dreadful command. Coughing, sneezing, runny nose, worse than usual headaches, and the ugliest wheezing I have ever experienced in my long years of bronchial attacks.
The onset was quite sudden. I managed to cook lunch, feeling a bit more worn than usual, but nothing remarkable. After my guests left, I suddenly felt overwhelmed and went to bed, conking out for a couple of hours.
Then the cough began. So abrupt, so forceful, after days of this my ribcage hurts. Then the wheezing.
In my childhood, my mother used to say I sounded like a cat mewing when the asthma blocked up my air passages. This time, it was a cacophony of different sounds. The mewling was there, but my chest was rattling, gurgling and rasping all at once.
Each action seemed accompanied by a different pitch which was amplified because my ears were even more of a mess. The incessant tinnitus was exacerbated by the heaviness and throbbing in my ear canal.
If I sat upright to sleep, it subsided a little, but for the most part it has been a horribly discordant amount of noise at an intimate level.
A doctor told me that this is obviously viral given the amount of patients presenting with these symptoms. You can take over the counter symptom relievers and cough syrups (which I did) and it should go away after a couple of weeks, if there are no complications.
I was wary, remembering the last time I succumbed so miserably was with Covid. This time, I’ve had no fever, no sharp scratchy feeling in my throat, no loss of smell or taste. But I wanted to know if people were being tested for whatever the latest strains of Covid might be.
Covid testing is not mandatory now and is not automatic. Nevertheless, even as I made my feeble trip to the pharmacy, I was careful to wear a mask.
Many people were coming in for similar medications, explaining the symptoms to the pharmacist. They were clearly buying them for afflicted relatives—they looked far too healthy and sprightly to be ill.
I was cursing myself for not going for a flu shot because I had really intended to do so, when I spoke with a woman who was masked like me. She said she had got her flu shot but she had still caught the virus.
It’s been maybe ten days or so since it has laid me out. I still feel wretched, limp and the cough is like a malevolent imp daring me to speak for more than a minute so it can send me into spasms of pain.
I am sharing this because I think this flu has mashed up many people this season and I figure the more we understand what’s happening, the better we can manage it. Wearing a mask is perhaps the most useful to contain it.
Tapping into my fire horse optimism, I’ve been telling myself that being forced to take it easy, to actually rest, has been a good thing for me. I really enjoy the season because it is an opportunity for me to cook and host my friends. I’ve had to forego that pleasure this year.
I have not been able to have conversations with them. Even communicating via messages is difficult. To be frank, I don’t know how I am summoning the energy to write this column.
Still, I am grateful for many things. I can tend to my needs. It’s slow going, but it’s doable. Fortunately, because of my habitual cooking and freezing food, I don’t have to worry about that.
A friend suggested I have some soup, and it took such little effort to toss things together from my freezer and concoct a nutritious potful that I was really pleased with myself.
(via iStock.)
I know I am past the worst, and that I simply have to persevere and resist the urge to resume too many physical activities.
Every morning I wake up so eager to see what the day will bring; my enthusiasm is often my undoing. I need to constantly remind myself that to allow myself some rest is not a bad thing (childhood conditioning!).
I am writing this on New Year’s Day. Last night, the fireworks began shooting off from 7.30pm and didn’t stop until maybe four o’ clock.
I was disappointed, but not surprised. The whole approach to fireworks is flaccid and dodgy—there is no commitment to the obvious solution. My ears were ringing in the new year.
Sadly, and realistically, I don’t see anything new coming up ahead.
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Vaneisa Baksh is a columnist with the Trinidad Express, an editor and a cricket historian. She is the author of a biography of Sir Frank Worrell.
No vitamins to fortify your system?
yes indeed.
Good….and hopefully you are taking the proper dosage…which will not be what is on the package…when it comes to vitamin C anyway…hope you are free from the flu forever…it’s nice to live without worrying about that.