LIVIA'S BOOKLET

Hi Dad, It’s me again. Another 6th June has come around, and as always, I find myself reaching for words that somehow carry everything I’ve lived through back to you. It’s the 27th time I’m doing this now, though sometimes it still feels like I’m learning how to speak into silence. Life has been… full. Not in a loud or perfect way, but in that quiet, complicated way you only understand when you’re the one living it. Since last June, I’ve had days where I felt like I was finally getting things right—like I was becoming someone I could be proud of. I’ve also had days where I doubted everything, where even simple things felt heavier than they should. But I kept going. I think that’s something I’ve learned to do better now… just keep going, even when I don’t fully understand where I’m headed. There have been small victories too. The kind I don’t always say out loud, but I know you would’ve noticed. The moments I handled things better than I used to. The times I chose patience over reaction...

  He walks with mountains in his chest, yet greets the world with a smile steady enough to convince everyone he is fine. The bills know his name. Responsibility knows his address. Expectations pull up a chair at every table he sits at, eating first, leaving him with whatever remains. He was taught that strength looks like silence, so he learned to swallow storms whole. He buries disappointment beneath firm handshakes. He folds heartbreak into quiet laughter. He trains his eyes to hold back oceans. And somehow, the world mistakes his silence for peace. But there are nights when darkness settles heavily upon the room and the ceiling becomes a faithful witness to battles no one else can hear. Nights when exhaustion sits at the edge of his bed and asks questions for which he has no answers. Who carries the carrier? Who lifts the shoulders that hold everyone else? Who heals the healer? Who listens when the strong one finally breaks? Yet morning still finds him standing. Not...