hanano.fei

Today, everything I write feels like the fruit I forgot on the kitchen counter and should've thrown away weeks ago.

Today is a rainy day.

Today my thoughts are drowning me like a big ocean wave.

I can't breathe.

We have 1pm. I'm still in my pyjama's.

Still thinking.

I already changed my position 3 times.

Sofa. Desk. Floor.

Today I'm struggling.

Struggling to find "me". In the sea of so many successful, interesting people.

Who am I ?

Maybe I will know tomorrow

Yes, tomorrow will be better

- but

Today

Today is today.

How much am I meant to give to others, and how much may I ask them to give to me?

Is there some silent law, an unwritten measure of how much we must do, endure, and accept?

I long for an ordinary life — a life that feels light.

A life where I’m free to follow the pull of my own heart,

to choose for myself what brings me comfort, and what leaves me aching.

I long for days when I can simply curl up in bed,

lose myself in the calm drift of underwater worlds,

and not feel that familiar weight of guilt pressing on my shoulders —

telling me I should be doing more, that resting makes me careless or unworthy.

Unable to hear those harsh voices whisper: “You shouldn’t do this. You haven’t done enough. You’re lazy. Irresponsible.”

And yet,

I want the people close to me to help carry my burdens, to hold a share of my pain.

To stand by me when I cannot stand alone.

Does this make me selfish?

How do I change, or at least learn to find a balance —

between caring for others and allowing myself to be cared for

And here I stand once more, caught in the moment of needing others.

I ache to do it all alone — to move through this life without leaning on others, without the constant, trembling hand extended for help.

How I long to meet my own needs, to wake each day unburdened by the question of who must carry me today, so that I too might taste a fragment of living.

Is it too much to ask?

I hover endlessly between the thought of “this is so unjust” and the refrain of “I’m sorry.”

I’ve lost all sense of what’s fair, what’s selfish, what’s simply okay as a human being to do.

I yearn to untangle myself from the belief that I am a weight upon the shoulders of those I love — that I must repay every small mercy with something grander, brighter, more perfect than I could ever be.

I want to breathe without guilt. To learn how to stand — shakily — maybe, stubbornly — even, but wholly — on my own feet.

Step by step, I know I will reach that place.

But still, the fear — that in shedding my dependence, I might lose the hands that have always steadied me. That I might walk alone, only to find I am truly alone.

And yet, this is the tender, terrifying cost of becoming — of finally daring to live for myself

Today you told me you have a new friend.

And my first thought wasn’t, “I’m so happy for you.”

It was, “another person who might take you away from me,

another soul to fill your days,

another heart to share all the little moments I long to have with you.”

It was only a flicker—just a second—

but it frightened me.

I don’t want to think like that,

I don’t want to feel like that.

Still... it’s there.

You are my better half.

My whole life, you’ve been right beside me.

Now I watch you drift, bit by bit,

into a life that’s yours alone.

When we were young,

you always hid behind me—your bigger sister.

Your very first words were,

“Ask (my name), she knows.”

I was your voice, your shield,

the one who stood in front when the world seemed too big.

Now, I need you to stand with me,

to have my back the way I always had yours.

But you’ve grown.

You’re building your own life,

and I wish I could be nothing but happy—

grateful that you’re out there finding love,

friendships, adventures, everything I ever wanted for you.

Yet there’s a quiet fear inside me:

that little by little, I’ll lose you.

That someday you’ll forget what it felt like

to be two halves of the same heart.

And part of me aches,

because I can’t hold you close the way I used to.