12 months and a day later


I left 2015 with an empty heart.

As others gathered to celebrate joy,

I merely huddled under my sheets,

too exhausted, for the last few years

had been hard.



Then came february and I was still stuck

singing the same lifeless song,

a faint tone comparable to the single note

of a hospital machine;

and nothing could be done.



When college acceptance letters

poured in, I briefly smiled until a new set

of anxieties weighed my spirits down.

It really did feel like nearing the end

of a familiar book-- though it wasn't

a pleasant book, it was familiar nonetheless.

How desperately I clung to constancy

as I feared change and uncertainties.



I was down to the last few pages

of my Book of Life- the book

I've read since I was old enough to read.

Feelings from November-December 2015

started to resurface, reaching their

destructive hands to claw at the last

of my sanity in the year 2016.

Death occupied my thoughts

and brought back the old contents

of my heart.

My heart then again began to pump

anger, sadness, hopelessness, frustration,

all of which had damaged my

relationships and reputation.



As I tackled the last bits of my class finals,

I was ready to leave-

leave, as in leave.

Leave my head. Leave my thoughts. Leave me.

While my classmates wiggled in excitement,

at the thought of university or whatever else,

my blood shook at the mere mention

of college orientation.

I just wanted to leave and turn my entire being

away from every-single-thing.



The month after my graduation, I had to face

what I dreaded the most.

That was God responding to my desire to

leave this world;

He made me stay instead, as He always had,

as I always unwillingly did.

And so I was faced with the terrifying realization

that I had to start all over.

Not only did I have to read a completely new

and unknown book,

I had to write this new book with words

that I had already spent and wasted on the last 18 years.

I was immobilized by my wordlessness,

ignorant on where to even begin.



Feelings of isolation increased.

I truly would have to face the rest

of my years all on my own.

I couldn't grasp the thought of life

without the people I've ever known.

There was a shift in my attitude.

Once, I had begged to leave everything

but now I only wanted to stay where I was

and never leave.

I clung to familiarity as much as I could,

cried a thousand times when my pet fish died,

stayed in my mother's warm embrace for long moments,

laughed with my father for ages,

and I bonded with my younger brother once again.

A new wave of desperation flooded through me

and I realized that I had been at fault all along.



The first night of college orientation, needless to say,

I cried as I stared at the cage around me.

White, dull walls, nothing like the walls back at home.

A hard bed that thousands of strangers have slept in

and I was then one of them. A stranger in a stranger place

amongst a sea of strangers with no sense of direction

with nothing old to cling on.

I wanted to go home.

And go home, I finally did. As my family drove me back,

a dreadful epiphany revealed itself to me.

I needed to get well if I was to survive- and live.

Get well. That was a phrase I had not heard

since the only sickness I dealt with was runny nose

and fever.

Get well. It was an old concept but a totally

new term to get acquainted with again.

Where do I go to get well? Who do I go to?

I went to my parents.

Then to a psychologist.

Then to weeks of group therapy.

What I found at the end of these sessions,

was that with every progress I make,

the more words flowed into

that new book I had been given the chance to write.

These words weren't new, as I had expected them to be.

They were old. The difference was,

I used them differently and

in a different light, in a style I liked.

I was getting well.



First day of college, I brought with me

the armor that would later withstand

the familiar forces of

anger, sadness, hopelessness, and frustration.

I had come to terms that obstacles

will forever be hurled my way

as God's unfathomable way of making me stronger.

I didn't question the hardships that life

began to throw at me. I began to deal with them.

By my memory of therapy, I remembered

to use the tools to combat stress,

to combat negative friends,

to combat hopelessness.

Along with actions, I used words

to console myself and bring me back

to a healthy state of mind.

For the very first time,

since I was a child,

I used the words

I can do it and actually believed them.

I held close to me the thought that I




Never was I ever alone.

My Father,

my mom and dad,

my brother,

and I, my newfound friend,

were with me every step of the way.

I got up when I fell,

both figuratively and literally.

I pushed, and pulled, and pursued,

and realized with wide eyes

and with a leaping heart,

that I was no longer the same person.


october- november;

I began to live my life how it should

be lived.

Kindness for myself and others,

Understanding the purpose of all events,

Appreciation for both the little and grand things,

Faith in the life I lead,

Hope in times of hopelessness,

Smiles to share even in bitterness,

Compassion and sympathy for even those

who don't deserve it because everyone does,

Respect given not to the expectation that it will be returned

because it is earned,

Help, both giving it and receiving it,

is not a sign of weakness,

and Happiness is not a finite source--

it is available to me and

you, you, you, you, you, you,

you, you, you, you, you, you,

you, you, you, you, you, you,

you, you, you, you, you, you,

you, you, you, you, you, you,

you, you, you, you, you, you,

you, you, you, you, you, you,

times seven billion to infinity.




But- the word that can shatter perfection-

the road to recovery is not just filled with


The sting of defeat to me is not a new hurt.

What is new is finding myself

continuing despite defeat,

in hopes to defeat the next difficulty

and be triumphant.


january 1, 2017;

Two years ago in 2015 and

the beginning months of 2016,

I never would have continued.

I would have stayed defeated

because it was easier than willing myself,

in exhaustion and ache,

to stand back up.

For a very long time,

I despised and fear change so I lived

in constant pain and darkness.

During this period, I wanted to grow old quickly

in hopes to accelerate my life to meet

the inevitable end that we all must face one day

but now,

never have I been more relieved to find myself


to find myself having learned the significance of

self-care and positivity,

and to get the chance to choose to be happy.

2016 was the end of one of my books

and also the beginning of a new one.

I don't know how many other books I'll get to write

but I don't care.

I just know I've made it to 2017

and I feel



This poem is about: 


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