I’m at an age where I’m starting to have profound realizations about life. I have a bit of grief for the time lost in my previous years. A lot of what I have been chasing... wasn't even truly mine. The pressure to perform wasn’t who I was, but it became who I had to be. And for the first time in my life, I found myself asking, 'Do I actually want this kind of life?'
They say your 20s are for self-discovery, but I learned that for some of us, it’s not about finding ourselves or passion or purpose...it’s about holding everything together just to make it through.
Lucky are the people whose parents were kind, resulting, grew up to be kind too.
What does it mean to be a kind parent, as I see it? Kind parents don’t bring children into the world when they can’t provide. Kind parents don’t force their eldest to carry the weight of their younger siblings. Kind parents are kind to their eldest daughter from the moment she is born.
No matter what my family thought was love, I’ve always felt it as conditional and transactional.
What if I were to suddenly die months from now, or even in just a few years? They say that at the edge of death, you see a flash of your happiest memories but I’m afraid I’ll never know that feeling.
I had never had a dream for myself, and my bucket list was empty, but everything changed the moment I realized I had no friends, no core memories, no sense of belonging...and for the first time, I understood that I had to find myself.
---
The sun’s starting to set, and I’m walking through this unwalkable city—pavements cracked and broken, water pooled in every hollow, motorcycles squeezing through the uneven sidewalks.
Still, I like walking.
I passed by the same familiar family beggar on the streets, then a buko juice stall, and a few street food stalls.
To my right, the road moves with tired passengers and drivers. Somehow, it feels comforting to know that each of them has somewhere to go home to.
After a while, I passed by the entrance of the night market and hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should go in. In the end, I did.
A long row of flower stalls caught my eye, and without thinking too much, I bought myself a beautiful bouquet. Then it hit me, I’ve never received flowers like this before.
So why wait for someone else or feel sorry for myself, when I can give this kind of love to myself?
I also passed with the small cake studio where you can bake your own cake. Since it was my birthday yesterday, I decided to give it a try.
I paid at the counter and gathered my apron, gloves, and hair net. Then I headed to my station, where all the tools and ingredients were neatly laid out. I chose the most artistic cake design on the menu and began creating it, carefully following the instructions on the tablet.
Once I finished, I piped some words on the cake, smiling at how perfectly it turned out. The staff then beautifully wrapped it in a transparent box, making it feel like a little treasure I could take home.
I stepped out of the cake studio, holding the bouquet like a baby in my right hand and the cake carefully in my left.
After a few minutes, my feet led me away from the crowds. There it was a nearly empty parking lot tucked behind an old convenience store. Only a few cars lingered, headlights dimmed, the concrete bathed in the soft glow of a single streetlamp. Perfect.
I took a deep breath and settled myself on the ground, the low planter wall in front of me serving as a tiny table. I rested my hands lightly on the edge, placing the little cake atop it. The bouquet I had bought leaned against the wall beside me and their scent mingling with the night air. Carefully, I opened the transparent box, and the words I had piped; “witches don’t age”—smiled back at me.
I couldn’t help but grin.
I didn’t need anyone else to share it with. Not tonight. Not ever, if I didn’t want to.
I took my first bite, closing my eyes briefly to savor the sweetness. Small pleasures like this unexpected and entirely mine felt like tiny victories.
I muttered to myself, "Thank you, Lord, thank you, universe."
---
From across the lot, he noticed her.
He had just settled into the driver’s seat when his attention shifted and lingered.
From his seat, just fifteen feet away, he could see her profile clearly. The right side of her face, tilted up toward the sky, soft in the glow of the streetlamp. She leaned back slightly against the ground, eyes lifted, shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, she seemed completely separate from the world.
Even though most of the stars were hidden by the city lights, she stared upward as if she could see them all. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips. She looked… grateful. Grateful for something unseen, something ordinary yet quietly beautiful.
From his car, across the dim lot, she looked like the most alive, most radiant person in the world.
He just watched, letting himself feel the pull of that small, private moment. The quiet gravity of her presence. The way she existed completely in her own little world and yet, somehow, illuminated everything around her.
Something stirred in him. A pull he couldn’t explain. A strange, dormant energy like old, wild, instinctive—flickered beneath the surface. It drew him, quiet but urgent, toward her.
He shook his head, forcing himself to ignore it.
Whatever that was, it didn’t make sense. He wasn’t supposed to feel this.
He started the car, and the engine came alive with a low, powerful roar, breaking the quiet of the lot.
From the corner of her eye, she flinched slightly, startled by the sudden sound. Her attention drawn toward the car across the lot. She paused for a moment, a faint sense of surprise settling in, though she couldn’t quite explain why. Then the car pulled away, its presence fading.
And just like that, the moment ended.