Unfamiliar
It was almost 6:00 PM. The sky was a surreal painting of orange, red, and grey, as if God Himself had taken a brush to the heavens. But the beauty outside only deepened the silence inside. The room I was in felt unfamiliar. Cold. Empty. Just like the space I seemed to be navigating in life.
The city lights below looked like a sea of fireflies, but I didn’t feel their warmth. I stood there, still, my hands resting on the cold railing. The wind brushed gently against my skin, stirring the hem of my striped skirt, but it did little to ease the weight pressing on my chest.
I hadn’t moved in a while. Just sat there earlier on the edge of the bed, still, trying to make sense of the quiet. I wasn’t sad. Not entirely. Just… tired. And maybe a little lost.
I thought about all the places I’d been... the cities, the provinces, the miles I’ve walked alone. I’ve traveled far for many reasons: to work, to learn, to understand people, to understand myself. I’ve met different versions of me along the way — the professional, the helper, the strong one. But here, in this room, I was only me.
A daughter who sometimes feels like she’s outgrown expectations but hasn’t outgrown needing her family.
A sister who quietly carries weight she doesn’t speak about.
A mother who wakes up every day with her child in mind, every choice, every risk, every pause tied to that one reason she never allows herself to fall apart.
A friend who shows up, listens deeply, and remembers the little things, even when she's the one needing someone to ask how she’s really doing.
An employee who works hard behind the scenes, often going the extra mile not for recognition, but because she takes pride in doing things right, even when it feels like no one notices.
And somewhere between all that, I’m also the quiet one. The introvert who’d rather listen than speak. The one who finds pieces of herself inside books, between sentences written by strangers who somehow understand her. The one who writes not because she wants to be read, but because it’s the only way to feel lighter. More real.
I don’t always have the words when I need them. I don’t always know where I’m headed next. But I’ve learned that stillness doesn’t mean weakness. Sometimes it’s just the soul catching up to everything the body has been carrying.
So tonight, I’ll sit a while longer in this unfamiliar place.
Not to search for answers.
But to finally stop pretending I’ve already figured it all out.
Because maybe the journey isn’t always about arriving somewhere certain. Maybe it’s about finding peace even when I don’t know exactly where I am.
- jan
