(A Snippet from My Upcoming Book)
I’m human, and I feel deeply. It’s a daily practice for me to fight off those discouraging voices—you can’t do this, you’re not good enough, you’re a failure—and hold onto the hope that life can be different. I’ll be honest: I don’t always succeed. Some days, doubt creeps in and makes me question everything. But I keep going, because I believe sharing our raw truths can be healing—for me, and maybe for you, too.
I’m also working on a new book, a story that’s been lodged in my soul for a while. It’s the kind of tale that demands to be told, even when it scares me to put my heart on the page. Below is a glimpse into its world. I hope it resonates with you, because it comes from the most vulnerable parts of who I am.
Sometimes I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of reality. But what does “reality” really mean, anyway? There are moments when I think I have a solid grasp on life—at least on my own version of it—yet doubt always manages to creep in. Do I truly understand it, or am I merely clinging to fragments of something I can’t fully see?
They say we create our own reality. I’ve heard that time and again, but I can’t always reconcile it with my experiences. Yes, we shape our lives to some degree, but how much control do we really have? We don’t always get what we want, do we? Perhaps we get what we need instead—or so “they” say. I’m still not certain who “they” are or how they arrived at these philosophies.
I’ve lived long enough to believe I’ve learned a few things, though even that knowledge feels shaky sometimes. I’ve pursued what I thought I wanted, only to watch it slip through my fingers. Did I let it go? Did I make choices that sealed my fate? Or was it all simply beyond my control?
Over time, I’ve come to accept responsibility for most of my decisions—even the ones that hurt people I love. But what’s harder to accept are the cracks those choices left in relationships I cherished (and still do). Because even if love changes shape, I don’t believe it ever fully disappears.
If only I’d understood that sooner: love is something you fight for. You hold on, even when it feels like you’re sliding off the edge. But I didn’t hold on, and neither did the person I was with. We both let go, and we fell—hard. It wasn’t until years later, on separate paths, that we realized just how far we’d tumbled and the weight of what we’d lost.
Yet there’s something else I’ve learned—something more unsettling. What happens when you don’t even have the choice to hold on? When your own mind betrays you, and your life falls into someone else’s hands? What is reality then? Is it determined by others’ actions, or is it some fractured memory drifting further and further away?
I’ve witnessed this slow unraveling of reality firsthand. I watched my parents—once so vibrant and full of life—fade into near silence as dementia and Alzheimer’s took hold. It’s like waiting for a bomb to go off, except it never does. Instead, you’re left watching the gradual erosion of the people you love most.
The hardest part wasn’t just the loss of memory or recognition, nor the confusion or the countless small heartbreaks. It was the way love itself changed. It was still there—unspoken and quiet—but different. My parents became wrapped in a cocoon of their own making, unreachable. No matter how desperately I wanted to pull them out, I couldn’t. They were trapped in the shreds of a fading world, unable to emerge.
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Writing this feels both terrifying and liberating. I’m sharing it because maybe you’ve felt these same doubts, these same aches in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you’ve faced heartbreak, seen a loved one slip away, or caught yourself wondering whether you’re the architect of your own suffering or simply a bystander.
I’m still learning, still fighting those internal critics that claim I’ll never be good enough. But through writing—through honest, sometimes uncomfortable reflection—I’m finding the courage to keep going. That’s why I’m writing this book: to remind us all (myself included) that no matter how shaky reality feels, there’s always something worth holding onto—love, hope, or the simple act of keeping faith in ourselves.
If this resonates with you, stay tuned. There’s more to come. And if you’re also feeling stuck, scared, or on the edge of your own reality, I hope you’ll find a bit of solace or company in these words. We’re all in this together, after all.
