This Month, or Maybe This Year
If Iām being honest, there isnāt much I feel like I should say about this month. Not because nothing happenedābut because I know myself. I know what Iām capable of when Iām truly at my best. And this⦠wasnāt that version of me.
Maybe it didnāt start this month at all. Maybe it started at the beginning of the year.
January began beautifullyāfull of momentum, clarity, and quiet confidence. I remember feeling like everything was finally aligning. And then, almost suddenly, something shifted. The same energy that lifted me began to slip away, and I found myself trying to hold onto something that no longer stayed.
February came with my birthdayāa rare, bright pause in everything. It was one of the most meaningful days of this year. I missed my family deeply, but my dad, as always, made sure I never felt alone in that moment. Somehow, he turned distance into warmth, and for a while, everything felt okay again.
March started with colors, laughter, and a sense of normalcyāHoli brought a kind of joy I didnāt realize I needed. But towards the end of the month, things took a different turn. My health began to decline, slowly at first, and then all at once. I had to travel back home, and even after returning, it didnāt get betterāit got heavier.
I was physically weak, but what weighed more was everything else. The silence. The loneliness. The feeling of wanting to break down but choosing not to.
There were moments I wanted to scream, to let it all outābut I didnāt. Not because I couldnāt, but because I didnāt want my parents to worry. So I stayed calm. I stayed composed. I stayed āstrong.ā
And that quiet strength⦠stayed with me longer than I expected.
It followed me into April. The first week felt like an extension of everything I had been carrying. Slowly, I began to feel betterābut not fully. Not completely myself.
Somewhere in all of this, I lost things I didnāt even realize I could lose so easily:
I lost my workflow. I lost my confidence. I lost my time. I lost my focus. I lost my clarity of thought.
And somewhere between all of that⦠I lost me. The old me. The stubborn one. The one who didnāt stop.
But maybe this isnāt just about loss.
Maybe this is about rebuilding.
Because even now, somewhere deep inside, I can still feel herāthe girl who refuses to give up on herself. The one who knows what she wants and how far she can go.
Iām not there yet. But Iām trying. Trying to return. Trying to rebuild. Trying to become her again.
And maybe⦠thatās enough for now.
















