I wake up to a cold and cozy morning, the kind of morning that feels like a soft embrace, urging me to linger in bed just a little longer.
My eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, as the dim light of dawn filters gently through the thin curtains.
I lie still for a moment, soaking in the serene atmosphere.
Outside, the rhythmic chirping of crickets blends harmoniously with the crowing of a rooster, a sound so familiar and comforting that it feels like it’s echoing through my very being.
A smile slowly creeps onto my face as I realize where I am—home.
Not just a house, but home—the one place my heart constantly longs for.
It’s a sanctuary where memories live in every corner, where the air carries a scent that feels uniquely mine, and where the silence holds the warmth of belonging.
There’s something magical about being back here, surrounded by familiarity and love.
The chill in the air makes my legs tremble slightly as I carefully swing them over the edge of my bed.
The cold bites at my skin, and I shiver involuntarily, wrapping my arms around myself before slowly standing up.
My body feels heavy, still weighed down by the remnants of sleep.
With deliberate movements, I begin tidying up my sleeping area—folding the blankets neatly, smoothing out the creases, and putting everything back in its place.
The simple act of organizing feels grounding, as though it sets the tone for the day ahead.
Once I’m done, I stretch, raising my arms high above my head and rolling my shoulders back.
The stiffness in my body melts away as I twist gently from side to side, feeling the satisfying pull of my muscles waking up.
I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the familiar scent of home—a blend of wood, earth, and faint traces of last night’s dinner.
I glance around the house, and a wave of calm washes over me.
The silence is thick but comforting, like a warm blanket wrapping itself around me.
Still, I can’t help but notice how unusually quiet it is.
“Where’s mama?” I murmur to myself, breaking the stillness with my voice.
Reaching for my phone, I check the time—it’s 6:30 in the morning.
“Ma?” I call softly as I walk toward the hammock hanging by the side of the house.
“Ma?” My voice echoes slightly, but no reply comes.
She must have stepped out.
With a small shrug, I settle into the hammock, its gentle sway instantly soothing me.
From here, I take in the sight of our home.
My eyes linger on the weathered walls, and the wooden beams that have grown weak with age.
The house, once vibrant and full of life, now carries the marks of time and wear.
A pang of guilt and responsibility tugs at my chest.
“Lord,” I whisper under my breath,
“please guide me. Be with me as I fight for my dreams. Give me strength to overcome the challenges ahead.”
The words are simple but heartfelt, a quiet prayer offered to the universe, a plea for guidance and resilience.
As I sit in the hammock, the stillness around me magnifies the thoughts swirling in my mind.
My heart aches as I think about my nieces and nephews, who are miles away.
This will be the third Christmas they won’t be here to celebrate with us.
The realization hits me hard, a bittersweet ache that is both longing and acceptance.
Time feels like a thief, stealing moments and memories before I even realize they’re gone.
I think back to when they were younger, running around the house with boundless energy, their laughter filling every corner.
Back then, I was the one looking after them, chasing after their mischief and joining their games.
It feels surreal, almost strange, to think of them carving out their own paths.
A soft chuckle escapes my lips as I remember my own younger days, the way life felt so simple and carefree.
Those were the days of endless laughter, unburdened by responsibilities, when the biggest worry was how to make the most of the afternoon.
I wish, even for a fleeting moment, to return to that time.
But life doesn’t work that way.
It moves forward, teaching me that joy is often intertwined with sorrow, that happiness is best appreciated when it stands alongside moments of sadness.
With the Christmas drawing closer, my thoughts turn to hope.
I wish for everyone to be well, to find peace and happiness wherever they may be.
This season has a way of softening hearts and bringing people together despite the distance.
It’s a time of reflection, gratitude, and love—a reminder of what truly matters.
Swaying gently in the hammock, I let myself sink into the moment.
The air is crisp, the silence profound, and for a fleeting instant, I feel at peace.
Life is a mix of beauty and struggle, joy and sadness, woven together into a tapestry that tells my story.
And as I sit here, in the quiet embrace of my home, I feel deeply grateful for it all—for the past, the present, and the future that lies ahead.
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No FicciónLife often presents itself as a series of hurdles, each one taller than the last. These hurdles, though daunting, are not meant to break us but to shape us into who we are meant to be. It is through our darkest nights that we gain the strength to fa...
