Komugisa

You're exhausted. Your soul is heavy with it. You're tired of the same job, the same apartment, the same routines, the same problems that never seem to get solved. You're tired of telling yourself that next year will be different. You're tired of believing that things are going to shift. You're tired of waiting for your life to finally become what you thought it would be by now. I'm writing this to you. Specifically to you. The person who can't sleep because your mind won't stop running through all the ways your life isn't what you want it to be. The person who used to have hope and now mostly just feels resigned. The person who's been waiting so long that you're starting to wonder if maybe this is just it. Maybe this is your life. Maybe you're not going to get out. Maybe you're going to spend the next forty years doing what you're doing right now, feeling what you're feeling right now, and there's nothing you can do to ch...

This afternoon I stood at the kitchen counter chopping onions for no real reason, just to keep my hands busy. The knife moved slowly while I muttered another prayer under my breath, the same one I’ve said for months now. “Open a door, Lord. Any door.” The words felt flat against the sound of traffic outside my window. Nothing in the air changed. The onions just made my eyes sting more, and I wiped my face with the back of my hand, pretending it was only from the cutting. I’ve been consistent with it, you know? Not the big dramatic prayers anymore, but the steady ones. In the middle of my workday when emails pile up and I feel invisible. While walking back from the market with heavy bags digging into my palms. Even in those random moments when a song comes on and my chest tightens for no clear reason. I pray for movement, for clarity, for something to finally break open in this stuck place. But the days keep folding into each other without a single sign. Today at work I sat through anot...

Today I finally started this. Komugisa. These quiet pages where I can say the things I don’t say out loud to anyone. I don’t know who will find them or if they’ll even matter, but keeping it all inside was starting to feel heavier than the silence I’ve been carrying. So here I am, typing with tired fingers, pausing every few lines because the words get stuck sometimes. I’ve been in this season for what feels like forever now. The prayers have become so short and worn out. Most nights I just whisper the same thing: “I’m still here, God.” Nothing fancy. No big declarations of faith. Just that. And then the silence answers back, the way it always does lately. I try not to let it shake me, but some mornings it does. I pretend I’m fine when my mum calls. I reply to friends with “Doing well!” and a heart emoji, then put the phone face down and feel the emptiness rush back in. If you’re reading this right now and something in your chest just tightened... I see you. I know what it’s like to be...