LIVIA'S BOOKLET

  There is a version of me that existed before disappointment became familiar. A softer version. A louder dreamer. Someone who believed that good hearts are always met with good intentions. I miss her sometimes. Not because life destroyed her completely, but because survival changed the way she looks at everything now. These past months have taught me how quietly people leave. How promises expire. How loneliness can exist even in rooms full of love. And yet somehow, I am still here. Still waking up. Still trying. Still searching for light in places that once buried me in darkness. That must mean something. Maybe strength is not becoming fearless. Maybe it is continuing despite the fear. Continuing despite the delays, the heartbreak, the unanswered questions. There are days I still mourn the life I imagined for myself. The timing. The people. The version of happiness I thought would arrive sooner. But lately, I have stopped asking life, “Why me?” Instead, I ask, “What is this pain t...

  May found me tired. Not the kind of tired sleep can fix, but the kind that settles quietly inside the heart after too many disappointments dressed as lessons. I entered this month carrying invisible wars. Smiling in public. Breaking in private. Pretending certain things no longer hurt simply because I had survived them before. But healing becomes difficult when you keep revisiting places within yourself that were never kind to you. So this month, I am learning silence. Not weakness. Not surrender. Just silence. The kind that no longer feels the need to explain pain to people who only understand it when it wears tears. I no longer want to force conversations, connections, or outcomes. Some things become lighter the moment we stop carrying them. And perhaps peace is not always found in receiving more. Perhaps sometimes it arrives when we finally accept what must be released. May does not feel magical yet. But it feels honest. And honestly, that is enough for me right now.