THE TRANSLATION OF HOPE

　　My story crosses oceans. I was born in Brazil and eventually found myself in Australia, mostly just to learn English. I never expected to fall in love with the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen just four months before I was supposed to head back home.

　　When you're young, everything is an adventure. For nearly 700 days, we lived for our weekend Skype calls. Then, I bought a ticket to Taiwan. Within two months, we were married.

　　Life was moving fast, and it felt right. I was teaching English, wrapping my head around BoPoMoFo, and building a life. Everything seemed to be falling into place.

　　You know the famous line from Forrest Gump: “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” Two years into my life in Taiwan, my wife was pregnant, and I felt like I was finally achieving everything I had set out to do. Then, I opened the box again—and found a bitter one.

　　It started as a dull ache in my right knee and leg. Slowly, the pain climbed into my neck, my back, and my spine. Then came the diagnosis: Multiple Sclerosis.

　　My son was only two months old. Life was supposed to begin, but suddenly, it felt like it was turning upside down.

　　At first, I tried to outrun it. I hid the symptoms from everyone, hoping if I ignored the disease long enough, it would just vanish. But I couldn't hide from myself. Simple tasks became hurdles. People started to notice. Eventually, the limp was impossible to ignore. I fought using a walker until the very last second—until I fell.

　　And that really hurt.

　　It wasn't just the physical fall; it was the emotional weight of realizing MS wasn't going away. I had visited churches and temples, said every prayer I knew, but the reality remained. Being 18,000 kilometers away from my family in Brazil only made the burden heavier.

　　But life didn't stop there.

　　MS took away a lot of things I used to value, but it also forced me to learn acceptance. I realized this wasn't my fault. My wife and I decided to have another baby, and suddenly, life felt colorful again. There were years where I circled through anger and loneliness, but I eventually realized those thoughts were just dead ends.

　　I've been in a wheelchair for six years now. Some days are still hard, but I've learned a mantra: I have MS, but MS doesn't have me.

　　Staying hopeful made me stronger, and it drove me to find people who actually understood. In 2018, I found the Taiwan Foundation for Rare Disorders (TFRD) and joined their Translation Club. Working with Teacher Wang and the rest of the team, I realized we weren't just translating books—we were giving people a voice.

　　TFRD became my safe harbor. It gave me a sense of purpose to help people I didn't even know. Since then, I've stayed busy with book translations, voice recordings, and physiotherapy at the center in Guanxi. That place is special. It's where I go to see friends, share our struggles, and actually have some fun. If you've never been, you're truly missing out.

　　Meeting others with MS through the foundation reminded me that I wasn't alone. There is a specific kind of support that doesn't need many words; it's just about being present with people who know exactly how you feel.

　　Having this disease doesn't define me, but it has certainly changed my lenses in the world. In a strange way, MS became a portal. It forced me to slow down and appreciate the small, quiet moments I might have rushed past before.

　　Life will keep throwing challenges my way, and that's okay. There is still joy and purpose in this journey. I don't have an answer to "Why me?" but maybe that isn't the right question. Maybe I'm just here to share this story with you—to be a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel.

　　To me, that is what makes life meaningful.

Writer: Giancarlo Rotolo
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