In every footstep, I watched the rain fell on the ground, leaving traces of silver on the grass. I felt each drop make a soft thud atop my head, slowly falling down through my forlorn face. I looked up and welcomed the cold sensation, breathing in the scent of the earth as the clouds continued to let out a small cry. Subtle yet heavy.

It has been three years, I thought to myself. With it came the realization that it is easy to say that nothing much has changed; that there is nothing much that you have done to be better. Yet, when you actually look back and see beyond the bigger picture, the glaring truth is hard to miss.

Three years ago, I was walking alone in a big city, feeling infinitesimal amidst the tall towers of hope, dreams, and despair. I was a wandering stranger in a place so familiar.

The following years since then were a whirlwind of extreme highs and lows. In fact, up to these days. But weird enough, 2020 made me feel more connected to everyone around me. I think it is the yearning for interactions, which we easily took for granted then, that made us crave for quality time – albeit online. I got to really talk with families and friends, enjoyed Netflix parties, engaged in many social and environmental issues.

I was loaded with information here and there. I didn’t realize that this sensory overload is the culprit to my relapses.

Is it worth it to be present in expense of your own mental health? No. Is it worth it to spend time with your family and friends who are also having a hard time during this pandemic? Definitely.

But we also have to know when to step back and only give energy to what really matters to us.

We lose ourselves in people, yes. But through others, we also find ourselves. Friendly conversations and a healthy discourse… these are just some of the things that make us even more self-aware of our thoughts and actions. When we show up for others, can we consider it as showing up for ourselves as well?

2020 brought us massive losses and restrictions. It instigated misplaced anger, more fears, and paranoia. And this new year doesn’t seem too hopeful with the virus and quarantine still in place. Nonetheless, I want to carry with me the hope that one day, we can finally remove the mask and feel safe again. When that happens, I hope we sustain the time we are willing to spend with the people around us.

It has been three years, and I was still walking alone. My footstep, slow and steady. But I didn’t necessarily feel lonely.

The drizzle has stopped as I smiled to myself, thinking that when I arrive home, there are those who would be waiting for me – both in the physical realm and digital screens.


I promise to remind myself that I am in a much better place now. I hope you remember that too. You are in a much better place now even at times that it doesn’t feel like it. Let’s trust the process more, even it feels unfair; even it doesn’t make sense. Life, as it seems, doesn’t make sense at all. Or at first. I believe it does eventually. Let’s see how the pieces fall into place – with a mind filled with wonder and a heart that beats gratitude.

I know 2020 is hard for everyone, so let’s try to make each other feel less isolated, especially with the lockdown. I hope this year, we can lift all these heavy energies into the void. May we all feel lighter and happier. Happy New Year!

Thank you for reading!
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I hope my words reach you,

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[Featured Image from Unsplash]

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