The alarm wakes me before the world is ready… a small agreement made with the night.
Inside, it’s warm. Heat rises and so do I, nineteen floors up, wrapped in stillness. Outside, the cold presses its face against the windows, sharp and impatient. Winter waiting…
Read MoreI didn’t end this year chasing a better version of myself. I ended it learning how to stay.
Stay with the work when it got quiet.
Stay with people who didn’t need me to perform.
Stay with my body long enough to hear what it was asking for.
Stay when leaving would’ve been easier…
Read MoreI used to think purpose was something you discovered. Like a hidden room everyone else eventually found, and if you paid enough attention or waited long enough, you’d stumble into it too. I kept waiting for that click. The moment where everything lined up and pointed in one clean direction…
Read MoreYear-End Signals
This time of year always pulls at me in two directions. There’s the part of me that’s still figuring out how to walk through December without flinching. Grief doesn’t circle dates on a calendar, but my body somehow remembers anyway. So while everyone else is swapping travel plans and holiday playlists, I’m moving through the days with a small echo in my chest. Present enough to function, not always present enough to feel…
Read MoreI’m not sure when it happened, but I started splurging on avocado oil. Not just any oil the good stuff. The kind that’s smooth, almost creamy, and makes everything taste better. There’s something about opening that bottle, watching the green-gold drip out, and knowing it’s going to make a simple meal feel a little extra. Honestly, it’s one of those little things that feels like a small win, like I’m treating myself without going overboard…
Read MoreIt’s been a minute since I’ve written here. No grand return, just a quiet one, like waking up from a long Sunday nap…
There’s a certain kind of peace that only hits on a Sunday afternoon. The light’s soft, the air’s slow, and the world seems fine letting you rest. You close your eyes meaning to recharge for fifteen minutes, and next thing you know, the sun’s slipped away. No guilt, no rush, just your body catching up to itself.
Read MoreThirty days. Fifteen voices. Thirty ways of naming what lingers after the noise fades.
When I started this, I thought I was curating a series. What actually happened was a chorus. Friends, family, e-friends, people I’ve hugged in person and others I’ve only known through screens, you showed up and left pieces of yourselves here. And now this page hums with all of it…
Read MoreMemory is a living thing, shifting shape as time passes. What remains are the vivid moments, the small gestures, the glances and whispers that shaped us. In memory, love endures, teaching us that those we carry with us never truly leave.
Read MoreWhat Remains
is our essence
when those we love
no longer have our presence
We leave our attitudes biases
and our values like latent fingerprints…
Read MoreOur words linger longer than we realize. What remains in voice is the echo of conversations, laughter, and even the things left unsaid. Each syllable becomes a bridge, carrying presence, care, and life into the hearts of others.
Read MoreSaved
A contribution to What Remains
She was a child in a crowded living room church, tambourines jangling, voices rising until the air itself felt holy. She rolled across the floor, convulsing with something larger than herself, not knowing if it was real this time or just another attempt to belong…
Read MoreFaith is not only belief, it’s endurance, quiet and steady, through the unknown. What remains is the courage to trust when answers are out of reach, and the reassurance that even in doubt, love and hope are never lost.
Read MoreA Bite-Size Piece of Growth
What Remains
What remains draws you deep and pushes vulnerability to the forefront. Like a mirror, it reflects what is, while your memories emphasize what was. Isn’t it strange that what was lost is easily identifiable, but naming what remains can be challenging? It’s so easy to look back and realize a piece chipped off here, something was lost there, and then to find yourself here… looking at what remains. The losing, the chipping, made room for restoration, elevation, and renewal. To remain means that what was is not the same… and that brings me joy.
Read MoreLove changes shape. What begins as fire softens into warmth, what feels like certainty learns to bend, what dazzles in the beginning grows quiet but deeper over time. Love is not fixed, it shifts, stretches, and reshapes itself to meet the people we become. What remains is not the spark alone, but the steady glow, the willingness to keep choosing each other as everything else changes.
Read MoreWhat remains implies not only that there was a past but that someone will be waiting in the future, ready and willing to bear witness to that past.
I was born into a world molded under the weight of war and conflict. Someone first had to teach me this about the world.
In elementary school, I asked my fourth grade history teacher why we only ever talked about wars. I didn’t understand why wars had to shape my understanding of the past or initiate me to the present…
Read MoreA scent can undo us. The cologne left in on a note in a sealed envelope, the aroma of their favorite food, the way a certain flower shifts the air. What remains in smell is closeness you can’t hold, but can’t deny.
Read MoreI used to think legacy was what you leave behind.
A list of things with your name on them. A highlight reel. A resume you can’t update anymore.
I thought it was buildings, titles, photos on somebody’s wall.
I thought it was the stories people told about you over barbecue and sweet tea, with just enough exaggeration to make you sound better than you were.
But here’s the thing about “behind”
it’s static.
Read MoreA song can collapse time. One chord, and suddenly you’re back in their car, their living room, their arms. What remains in music is memory disguised as melody… it knows how to find us where words can’t.
Read MoreWhat remains? That is question that this musing is centered around. Context? None really. Just a blank slate with a question staring at me. There are so many directions one could go with this so let me give it my best shot…
Read MoreEven years later, you can still feel a hand in yours, the weight of a hug, the absence where touch used to be. Touch is the most human language, and what remains is the ache for it, the ghost of warmth on skin.
Read More
