This
year didn’t just test me, it unraveled me in ways I never saw coming. The last
Snake Year was 2013. I was 21, exhausted, and I remember ending the year with a
line that still echoes at the back of my mind; “HECK, December was a tiring
month… what am I talking about, 2013 is a tiring year!”. Back then I was
lost and overwhelmed, but I didn’t have the language to understand myself. So,
when the Snake Year returned, I didn’t dare to dream big, I just wanted to
survive the year quietly. But the year didn’t care about my softness.
The moment it began, everything started to crumbled, faster and deeper than I
could catch!
There
were days I wanted to run away from everything, not just the house, not just
the obligations, but the heaviness that lived inside my own chest. Days I
wished I could stop feeling altogether. Evenings where I stayed out longer than
I needed to, hiding behind a book in some quiet café just so I didn’t have to
step into a home where emotions were dismissed like they were problems. A place
full of people, yet empty in all the ways that actually mattered.
But
the strange thing about breaking is that light finds its way through the
cracks. This year I felt that light in the form of people who weren’t bound to
me by blood. People who showed up with care I didn’t know how to ask for. They
reached out, again and again, call after call, message after message, plans I
didn’t expect but desperately needed. They wanted to be there. It was as if
they could sense something hidden underneath the façade, like they recognize
the quiet ache in my soul even when I said nothing at all.
And
as I look back, for all the breaking and all the hurting, I’m grateful for one
thing above everything else, I truly felt my guardian angel working overtime.
In the moments when I was slipping, something always pulled me back. In the
nights when the world felt dark, a little light still found me. Maybe it was
people. Maybe it was timing. Maybe it really was my guardian angel. But
whatever it was, it kept me going. It kept me breathing. And It led me,
slowly and gently, toward the place I’m meant to be.