Scribbler in Panic

Unlucky but Blessed.

[scribbler-in-panic]

The Vagueness of It All

She had only been there for her friends.

That was the whole reason she was seated there in the first place; squeezed between them, helping them rehearse under her breath, calming their nerves moments before their own presentation. She remembered fixing a crooked page for one of them, whispering, “You’ll do fine,” while the room settled down for the group presenting ahead of theirs.

A group of men.

At first, she barely paid attention. But little by little, the room kept reacting to them: laughter, applause, amused murmurs spreading from row to row. Their presentation was confident in a way she wasn’t used to. Not lewd exactly, but mature, liberated. They carried themselves with an ease that made the entire room lean toward them naturally.

And somehow, that alone was enough to make her shy.

There was nothing improper about what they were doing, and yet she found herself unable to watch them for too long at a time. Every time she looked up, one of them would be speaking and doing with that smooth, unembarrassed male confidence she had only ever observed from afar. They joked too easily. Smiled too easily. Moved through the front of the room like they belonged there completely.

It made her strangely aware of herself.

So she kept lowering her gaze.

Pretending to reread her friends’ cue cards. Pretending to straighten papers on her lap. Sometimes she would look up for only a second before quickly looking away again, suddenly too conscious of how openly self-assured they all seemed compared to her own quietness.

Her friends beside her stayed focused on preparing for their turn. Meanwhile, she sat there trying to ignore the warmth gathering on her cheeks every time the room burst into laughter again.

Then finally, the presentation ended.

The room filled with applause. People were smiling, talking, shifting in their seats again. She clapped too, relieved now that she no longer had to force herself to keep looking up at the front.

She truly thought that was all the moment would become.

Until someone stopped directly in front of her.

A hand extended toward her.

“Hi. I’m [name].”

One of the men from the presentation.

For a second, she only stared, caught off guard that he was speaking to her specifically. Then she hurriedly smiled and placed her hand in his.

“Hello.”

His hand closed around hers warmly, confidently, like he had approached her with full intention from the beginning.

“You didn’t like our presentation?” he asked, amusement flickering in his expression.

Her eyes widened immediately. “No...I did. I mean…it was fun.”

The smile he gave her after that lingered a little too long to feel innocent.

“I could get you used to it.”

The words were light but full of unspoken desire. Casual enough for anyone else to miss the meaning beneath them.

But she felt it.

Not vulgar. Not direct. Just unmistakably inviting. As though he had noticed every moment she looked away, every second of shy avoidance, and found something about it interesting enough to approach afterward.

After that, the memory lost all sense of time.

No clear next scene. No recollection of what happened after the handshake ended. It all blurred strangely at the edges until the only things left were his voice, his smile, and that single sentence spoken with the kind of confidence that seemed to follow him naturally.

Then nothing.

As though the moment appeared only long enough to leave something unfinished behind.

[scribbler-in-panic]

Just a Random Rambling

Went out yesterday with my sister ‘cause we needed to buy a few things. I was honestly so hesitant to leave the house ‘cause the heat has been unbearable lately, and it already had me in a bad mood before the day even started. I was irritated over something as simple as feeling uncomfortable in this weather.

Then we saw this young woman sitting in a corner with her newborn baby, asking people for food.

I instantly felt bad for her, but especially for the baby, ‘cause the little one looked like she had only just been born. I’ll be honest, I had this inner conflict the moment I saw them. Part of me was silently questioning the mother and wondering why another child had to grow up carrying the weight of poverty, too. But at the same time, I also knew that whatever story brought her there was probably heavier than anything I could assume from one passing moment.

So I told my sister to stop by a grocery store first. We bought milk for a newborn, diapers, pieces of bread, and drinks for the mother and her other child. When we handed everything to her, that was when I finally looked closely at the baby.

My heart genuinely hurt.

She was so tiny, so beautiful, so innocent, just quietly sleeping in the middle of all that heat and exhaustion around her. I asked the mother whether the baby was a newborn, and she told me the baby is only four weeks old. I told her, “Your baby is only four weeks old, and you already have to bring her outside in this heat.” She quietly answered that she had no choice ‘cause no one could watch the baby for her.

There were so many things I wanted to ask. So many things I almost blamed her for in my head. But I also realized that they were probably hungry, tired, and already carrying enough shame from the way people look at them every single day. The last thing she needed in that moment was another stranger judging her, blaming her for the kind of life she lives, or making her feel worse for the situation her children were born into. Life had probably already done enough of that to her long before we crossed paths.

So instead, I just told her, “Please eat well and take care of the baby.”

She said thank you, and then we walked away with that baby on my mind.

I’ve always known that babies, animals, and old people are the quickest way to break me emotionally. Something about vulnerability softens me immediately. Sometimes I even get frustrated at myself for having such a "weak" heart, 'cause I can never fully look away once I know someone is struggling.

And that yesterday’s encounter also humbled me and reminded me again of the realities of life we are all living and navigating differently.

While I was complaining about the heat and inconveniences, there were people enduring the same weather without even knowing if they would eat that day or have water to drink. I was uncomfortable, yes, but I still had the privilege of going home, cooling down, eating properly, and resting in comfort. They didn’t.

It really made me realize (again) how easy it is for us to center our lives around inconvenience, discomfort, or judgment while other people are out there surviving things we would probably break down over ourselves.

I think moments like this quietly humble you in the most impactful way. Sometimes it’s just choosing not to harden your heart in a world that constantly gives you reasons to.

[scribbler-in-panic]

Unless You...

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Thoughts at 9:44 in the Evening

Do you ever miss someone in a way that feels quiet but heavy at the same time? Like a memory that suddenly pulls you back to the version of you who felt everything so deeply.

I do.

I remember him. I remember the day.

He was older, wiser, more experienced. And back then, I held onto his smile and his words like they meant everything. Maybe because they did.

Now, whenever I hear that one song, or whenever I feel weak like this, stuck in bed and sick, he comes back to me. So clearly.

I wonder where he is now? If he still loves that song when the moon is bright and full? If he ever looks at it and remembers me, too, even if we’re miles apart?

It sounds corny, I know. But sometimes I think, what if the age gap never mattered? What if we met again when the timing was finally right? Would anything be different?

If I ever saw him again, would he recognize me? Now that I’ve grown into myself, into my womanhood?

And would I recognize him too?

I think I would. Even if some days his face feels blurry in my head.

It’s strange how some people only stay for a moment. They’re never meant to be permanent. But the feeling they leave behind is.

And somehow, it stays with you. Forever.

[scribbler-in-panic]

Static

No idea exists on how to start this. No certainty exists on what to write. Only exhaustion remains. Only isolation stays.

The only “hope” once believed to help now feels unreachable. Help appears selective, offered in fragments, never in the one place where it matters most. The problem that causes the deepest worry will never be ended. With that realization, the last source of hope disappears.

What remains is a hopeless case. A ticking clock. A battery draining slowly, freezing time at the exact moment everything collapses. When that moment arrives, nothing will be left except crumbs: shame, hurt, and broken pieces scattered everywhere.

This state does not feel like depression by nature, yet melancholy settles heavily. The kind that drains strength. The kind that makes every attempt feel useless. Trying again feels pointless. Everything feels destined to fail and to cause more damage. No help feels available. No rescue feels expected.

Maybe this is a blessing disguised as cruelty. Maybe this pressure exists to push everything to the edge, until enough will is forced into existence to end everything. Maybe that ending is the cleanest option.

No matter the feelings carried. No matter the words formed. Help will never come for this specific problem. Other struggles may receive answers, but this one will never be touched.

A hopeless case remains.

[scribbler-in-panic]

Fractured First of the New

It is just the eleventh day of January and I already feel like I have lived a whole year inside my head.

People keep talking about fresh starts, clean slates, gentle beginnings. Meanwhile, my mind feels like a room after a storm, furniture flipped, glass everywhere, nothing where it is supposed to be. I wake up tired in a way sleep cannot fix, if I even get to sleep at all. Not the body kind. The soul kind. The kind that makes even breathing feel like work.

I did not expect to feel this undone so early into the year. There is something especially cruel about being exhausted when you have barely begun. It makes you feel weak, ungrateful, broken before you even had the chance to try. Everyone else seems to be posting goals and glow-ups and hope. I am here counting how many times I have to talk myself out of disappearing into my own thoughts. It feels so f**king hateful and so negative to be navigating a new year like this, but I cannot f**king help it.

And then there is the spiritual part of it, which somehow hurts more.

I am stuck in this awful in-between. Not fully settled, not fully giving up. Just waiting. That word keeps being handed to me like it is supposed to be comforting. Wait. Trust. As if faith is just sitting quietly in a chair while your insides are on fire.

But what happens when the truth is already in front of you?

What happens when what you see, what you feel, what keeps breaking you every single day is not some vague fear but a reality that keeps showing up uninvited? How do you wait when the thing you are supposed to be waiting on is actively wrecking you? How do you trust when the evidence feels loud and brutal and undeniable?

And still, somehow, I do not let go.

I still whisper prayers, even when they sound more like arguments. Less “thank you” and more “why". Less “I understand” and more “this hurts". I am tired of unanswered questions stacking up inside me like unpaid bills, but I keep placing them on the same altar, hoping they will be seen. Every day, another one arrives, and all I am told is to be patient. I stay anyway.

Patience feels like a luxury when you are drowning. But faith, even in its most exhausted form, keeps a hand on my shoulder and says not to quit.

There is a grief that comes with realizing how easy it is for people to say you can just outfeel your pain or sleep your way out of exhaustion, as if hurt, frustration, and disappointment obey simple instructions. As if a few deep breaths or a good night’s rest could undo what's wrecking you inside that no knows about.

So here I am, eleven days into a new year, already worn down to the bones. Still showing up. Still breathing. Still choosing to believe, even when belief feels heavy instead of comforting.

Maybe this is what faith looks like when it is real. Not calm. Not pretty. Just stubborn, aching, and still reaching.

I do not know what comes next. I do not have a neat ending or a hopeful quote to tie this together. All I have is this moment, this ache, this unresolved hope, this heart that refuses to completely close.

And maybe for now, that is enough.

[scribbler-in-panic]

The Tax of Giving a Damn

Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a glitchy side-quest of my own life, stuck in this weird emotional limbo where everything feels too big and too small at the same time. It’s like I’m watching myself from outside my own head, wondering why I’m still tangled up in something that never even existed. And the stupid part, the part that embarrasses me the most even as I admit it, is that I know better. I’m painfully, annoyingly, emotionally-maturely aware of how delusional this whole thing is.

I know I’m tired of this delusion. Tired of this one-sided connection, this crazy attraction and attention to someone so far away, so forbidden, so out of my reality it’s almost laughable. I know there is nothing happening. Nothing to hope for. Nothing to wait for. I'm never expecting anything, yet somehow, here I am, carrying it around like it’s a prophecy, like the universe whispered a secret only I heard. As if there’s a promised anything. As if the silence itself is a sign.

And it’s f**king ridiculous because a single hello, a f**king single hello, would change so much. Just one word. One acknowledgment. One spark of something real to justify all this spiraling. But I know that too will never, ever happen. I know it like I know gravity. Like I know my own name. And still, the wanting keeps beating against my ribs like a bird hitting glass.

I’m so deep in this joke that sometimes it doesn’t even feel painful, it just feels absurd. Like the universe is pranking me and I’m the only one who doesn’t know when to stop laughing. And the wild part is that I know I have the capacity to swim out of this. I know myself. I know one day I will just wake up and laugh at the memory of it, like “Wow, I really let that eat up my brain?” except it won’t be a question anymore; it’ll be a realization carved clean and clear.

But right now, the truth sits heavy: I’m still allowing this thing, this hollow, empty, imaginary thing, to consume me. To be the first thought when I wake up and the last one before I crash. It has become a ritual, and somehow I’ve made a fucking cathedral out of crumbs.

And I f**king hate it. I hate the hold it has on me. I hate how aware I am of the illusion and how I still let it sit in my chest like a tenant who won’t move out. I hate how emotionally intelligent I can be about every other part of my life except this.

Still, I know this is part of being human. I know this kind of mess lives in everyone somewhere, that wanting something unreal is just one of the taxes for giving a damn. I get that feeling deeply is what makes me alive, what proves I’m not numb or closed off. I know that all of this, the confusion, the attachment, the ache, is something anyone could stumble into.

But even with that understanding, the frustration doesn’t let me off the hook. It still burns. It still crawls under my skin. It still pisses me off that I can recognize the illusion so clearly and still fall under its gravity. I know I’ll outgrow it, I know I’ll move on, I know one day it’ll be just a story I outlived. But right now, it’s still a storm I’m walking through, knowing it’s human to feel it and still wishing I didn’t have to.

[scribbler-in-panic]

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How Are You? How Are Us?

It's been a year today since Mama was called to be with Papa and grandparents in heaven. 365 days since. One whole year without her. I know she's very much happy now in the Lord's paradise, and after seeing the struggle she had for the last three years because of sickness, we never want anything more for her but to be free of that and be devoid of sufferings she never deserved. But it's still painful. It's still sad for those of us left behind. Yes, our lives continue, but every day without her reminds us that something is irreparably broken and can never be the same again. There are moments, so many moments, when I ask myself, of all the children in the world, why must it be me and my sisters who have to bear this burden of grief, who must continue on without the parents we still need so desperately, at this stage of our lives? I do not wish this immeasurable, indescribable pain on anyone, but still, I can’t help but ask: Why us? I’ve always believed in miracles. But why was there no miracle for Mama? Why didn’t healing come? Was it too much to ask for her life? Was she not worthy of that grace? Or are we not worthy of that grace? I know things happen for a reason, but what's the reason it happened to us? Don't get me wrong, I have accepted it. I humbly accept God's master plan, even when it hurts beyond words, for it's always the best. But it will take me a lifetime to fully comprehend and get used to this heartbreak. Mama, I love you. I didn't get to say this as frequently as I should when you were still with us, but I do, and I will forever do. Until we meet again.

[scribbler-in-panic]

MIND: Wake her up. Can't she see? This delusion isn't real. He’s not meant for her. There is no them happening. She’s only fooling herself.

HEART: She knows, but let her have the illusion linger a little longer. There’s comfort in it, even if just for now. Let the feeling fade on its own. Trust me, the delusion won’t last forever. She’ll be ready when the time comes. Until then, let her be. Just for a little while longer.

[scribbler-in-panic]

This was literally me when I woke up yesterday, crying and thinking of the many whys. I am not a bad person, but why does everything seem so hard for me? Why do I have to feel too much and think too much, and why do I have to go through the harshest of grief, of heartbreak, and desperation?

And as I write this, I am still crying. The questions are still unanswered, but I trust You, Lord. Please don’t give up on me, especially when I feel too hopeless and can’t be strong enough anymore.

[scribbler-in-panic]

She saw her friend’s husband in a grocery store, and, of course, they chatted while doing the grocery shopping. Then, since it was already lunchtime, they had lunch at a nearby restaurant, and he offered to take her home.

While in the car, he suddenly said, “It’s funny because you know what? I used to dream of you in the passenger seat of my car, and I’m taking you home after a date night.” She looked at him, caught off guard by what he was saying. Then he smiled, “Before (name of her friend, his wife), you were my crush. I didn’t pursue you because you looked too snobbish.”

“I am glad you didn’t, or you will never be happily married to my friend,” she said, smiling, never anticipating what she would hear next.

“It’s true, it’s my confession. I am saying this to you because it’s all in the past, and this is the only time I can say it. Unless you want it to be in the present?”

She cut him off, “Okay, bud, stop talking. Focus on the driving.”

He laughed, “Here’s another confession. I don’t like it when (name of her friend, his wife) tells me your ex is trying to get you back. The guy’s an @$$hole.”

“Are you for real with this conversation?” she asked, starting to feel so weirded out.

“Do you not like it when men flirt with you? Are you gay?”

Just to shut him up, she pulled out her phone and showed him a video of Julien Baker, “Yes, I am gay. For her.”

But she’s never really gay. She has girl crushes, yes, but she’s straight.

And he relentlessly made her uneasy and uncomfortable with every word he said. He blatantly tells her to be risky in relationships, try situationships, do one-night stands, be more open when men tell her they want her, and that he’s a willing participant if she decides to. Life, he said, is meant to be used to experience things and learn from them.

"One more thing. (name of her friend, his wife) would love to know that we met today. But what will she think if she hears about our conversation today?”

She was glad she didn’t have more time to be in that car with the weirdo. She always thought he was among the best things that ever happened to her friend, and now she holds the fact that he’s not.

She just wanted a typical Saturday. Why did it have to turn so awkward? 🤦🏻‍♀️

[scribbler-in-panic]

Then it suddenly hit me. Why am I so eager for something to happen when all I know, all along, that as soon as it happens, I will turn my back and walk away? I am so insecure, so perfectly flawed, and there are lies and risks that I know I cannot dodge forever. I am so damaged to be found and be involved in an unlikely situation. I will only cause hurt, raise questions, and create more complications. I enjoyed my moments in my clouded senses, but the truths had to pull me back now to reality - while I am still sane and able. No one deserves to be involved in my brokenness. Not even myself. I'd rather leave before it starts.

[scribbler-in-panic]

How Was Your 2024?

I was with friends (we weirdly call ourselves "Ghost Brides" after that one film we saw together) a few weeks ago for our annual pre-Christmas gathering. There was an overflow of food, nonstop dancing, seemingly endless laughter, mischief, and gift-giving. I love those girls; ten years of friendship through the highest of highs and lowest of lows. On our winddown, we talked about our 2024. Listening to theirs, I am honestly glad it was a mixture of everything, mostly about gratification, self-growth, and realization. They had so much to be thankful for, and I, as their friend, could never be more proud. Then it was my turn. "How was your 2024, Kath?" It's not like they didn't know, but I sadly smiled and summarized my 2024 with "Worst." I would like to answer them in detail, but everything will just boil down to the fact that my Mum died in March, and the rest of that year went like nothing but fractions of things that tried to stir me away from the pain and sadness even for just a moment. I am not the depressive kind (though I have an unresolved social anxiety disorder), and I appreciate the things that happened after March, but it was never the same. When I went to New York for the second time to attend a United Nations event, it was the second week of April, just days after we buried my Mum. I didn't want to go, but my sisters told me that if they had the same chance as me, they would go to keep them distracted. My boss, like a father figure to me, hugged me at the airport (when I showed up) and said, "You'll be fine, Kath. You need this trip." During that 16-hour flight, while the cabin lights were dimmed and most were catching up on their sleep, I was controlling my tears. I was thinking of Mum and talking to her in my head. "Ma, I'm going to New York again. I couldn't bring Bonamine, but don't worry; I can take care of myself. I will just sleep away my motion sickness." She was always around to feel my feelings, hear my stories, and always be available during milestones or setbacks in my life. The Sakura flowers inside the UNHQ were in full bloom in April, and I bet telling Mum about it would be her favorite New York story of mine because she loved flowers. On May 1st, the 40th day since her death, we had a small gathering at home with her friends, a few relatives, and some neighbors. Mum was always the extroverted and sociable one in the family. No wonder the guests who came that day were full of stories about Mum and her take on different topics with so much open-mindedness.

During this month, my sisters and I also visited Mum’s grave for the first time to be with her on Mother’s Day. All those past Mother’s Day celebrations are indeed in the past now. Her gravestone says it all. June was never better. It was my first birthday without Mum, without a parent. Don't get me wrong; I love the celebrations I had with my sisters, friends, and workmates, and I genuinely appreciate the time they took from theirs to ensure that my birthday was remembered and celebrated. But for me, it was another devastating realization that I would age and celebrate my birthdays moving forward without the woman who gave birth to me. In my country, the rainy season peaks in July, and I usually love the heavy downpours. But that July, I looked at the rain with so much difference. It was during one of those rainy days when I saw my younger sister cry because we had to celebrate her birthday with just us three. I think, the realization also hit her that our July, her July, will never be the same again. The 8th to 10th months of my 2024 (except the week spent elsewhere) were very much occupied with work-related distractions. We were finalizing the organization of the annual international conference we were hosting, and I was helping our bookkeeper close the accounting books and prepare them for the yearly audit. Most of my time was spent in the office, or even if I was at home, I was still working. While it was a welcome distraction, the combined physical and mental stress and the ongoing grief took a toll on my body, and by early November, after the conference, my body gave up on me. My acid reflux was in full swing, the contracted cough and colds were tyrants, the fever was on and off, and I was just in pain here and there. I needed to see two different doctors, do random lab tests, and be given three different sets of meds to wholly but slowly recuperate. During these moments of sickness, I did see no one (apart from my sisters who are living at home with me), I canceled my Hong Kong trip with the Ghost Brides, never made myself available in our friends' group chats (if ever I did, very minimal), and requested to work from home for a good number of weeks. I just wanted to disappear for a while. I felt like I had too much of everything. If that seven-day trip in September to South Korea with my sisters had not happened, if we hadn't managed to squeeze that into our hectic adult lives, I don't know what chaos would have happened to me mentally. A day or two before November ended, I felt better and somehow ready to be back on track. One of the Ghost Brides was post-celebrating her birthday, and I really thought I owed her, them, the time. They were so helpful during Mum's wake, always present, and always assisted guests despite them having to work early the next day. We managed to catch up on things and planned our annual pre-Christmas party, and as expected, they never held any judgment for being in front of a deranged Geminian. The pre-Christmas party is the one I am talking about in the opening paragraph of this post.

By mid-December, I decided to finally catch up with my other friends, the “Chums” (my lifelong pals since we were 9). The first thing they asked me was, “We know you were sick, but what happened to you?” I just smiled, for I know they already know that one of my red flags is to disappear when I am going through something. They just wanted me to talk.

If there is one thing that I genuinely like in my 2024, it is that I was able to participate in doing something worthwhile. Around June or July, I pitched to Chums to give Christmas gifts to random people on the street, to those we think need them the most: the homeless, street sweepers, sellers, and beggars, among others. Having the Chums in my life is truly a blessing because we have this common thing about always trying to give to those in need, whether we have much or nothing. So, this idea was an immediate hit, and it did materialize; I extended it to stray dogs and cats, too. I love looking at people’s faces when they’re given hope, sustenance, and kindness. They didn’t need to profusely say thank you, but if that is their way of conveying their gratification for an answered prayer, I would gladly accept it.

Then came December 24, 2024. All past December 24s in our lives, we always watched Mum being so busy in the kitchen cooking this and that for the Noche Buena. But on 24 December 2024, our kitchen was so quiet and clean of ingredients, there were no used pots and pans, spills, and whatever. The already-cooked food we bought and served for the Noche Buena was another truth slapped on our faces. Nothing is the same anymore.

New Year’s Eve was no different despite the noise from firecrackers, street parties, and loud music. I was not making it obvious, but I felt like grief was owning my thoughts again that night. We were four when we welcomed 2024. We were always four ever since Pops died. What makes 2025 so different that we needed to “welcome” it without Mum?

This has been a super long post for a simple question: “How was my 2024?” I do not hate 2024; it was just a year with still so much to be thankful for (sisters, friends, work, opportunities, possibilities, best health, etc.). The only thing is, it is the year that brought the most painful and life-changing heartbreak that will keep on hurting for the rest of my life. My sisters and I never talk about our grief with each other so much, but I know they, too, are struggling to keep everything inside. My older sister’s birthday is in March. Our Dad died on March 19, and years later, Mum on March 23. I couldn’t imagine the pain she would be feeling every time her birthday came because, after each celebration, there would be the reminder of two losses.

So, if I were to ask again how my 2024 was, it would be this worst.

[scribbler-in-panic]

What’s the most interesting thing you’ve read or seen lately? I am still trying to finish this book called "A Gentleman in Moscow", and so far it has been good.

If you could have any superpower, what would it be and why? Power to grant wishes that will have a tremendous positive impact on the grand scheme.

What skill have you always wanted to learn but haven’t yet? Play the guitar or drums.

If you could travel anywhere right now, where would you go? Malta or Austria or Denmark or Netherlands.

What’s your favorite relaxing way after a long day? I just like to go straight home, take a bath, lie down, read a book, or watch anything on YouTube.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten? In everything you do, start and end with God.

If you could meet any historical figure, who would it be and why? Oh, I have lots! Princess Diana, Kurt Cobain, OTMA, etc.

What’s one thing you really want to do on your bucket list? Sky dive or experience riding a fighter jet.

What would it be if you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life? Sinigang

What’s a hobby or interest you love that others might not know about? I love reading about history or Greek mythology.

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yoU aNd i

What if we’re like that?

No hellos, no “my name is”, and no “what’s your number”.

Yet somehow, somewhere, one day, we’ll meet again.

And when we do, would you be nameless?

Would we finally turn silent smiles into spoken hellos?

Would you finally courageously ask for my picture instead of secretly taking it?

And would I finally take the chance to look back from where you are to meet your gaze?

Another spring, another March.

There will always be one in the city of dreams.

Hope we will never be just another used-to-be.

(CR: https://bonanzamarketplace.com/5d-diamond-painting-abstract-man-woman-tree-kit/)

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A Thought From 89

You are the new year that I look forward to Just like how I spent the past 365 days celebrating you.