If there is a takeaway I have greatly benefited from this season, it must be the art of gratitude. And even saying that makes me sad because gratitude should be something ingrained in my skin for every little moment, every single one, good or bad. My mind has been bogged down by heavy thoughts about the world. I am lucky now to be able to think of things to do at home, to be able to write a story from them, to be able to try a trending coffee recipe, to be able to play with my kids, to be comfortable at home and have my family safe with me, to be able to use the Internet, to be able to follow an online workout routine, and the list goes on. And it doesn’t go on by the route of showing off, but by gratitude & how ashamed I am to ever utter a complaint about staying home. Today, I saw the sunlight from my front porch, and I thought of you:
the ones saving lives while risking your own
the ones separated from your loved ones while doing so
the ones wondering if you may have enough to feed your beautiful big families
the ones wondering about your jobs
the ones wondering about your businesses
the ones who may not get to visit your ailing parents
the ones who may not feel safe at home and have nowhere to run to
the ones who are pregnant and wondering if birth plans may change
the ones battling mental illnesses
the ones who are scared
and you, the one feeling all sorts of things & wondering if they’re valid
I thought of you as I saw the sunlight from my front porch, because that sunlight came after a heavy rain. And I also thought of you because the most vulnerable parts of your hearts battling all of these now; they are shining bright. And all of your feelings; they are valid. And so are all the ways you cope. The rain may seem the heaviest now, but trust that the sunlight may appear when it’s ready. And more than anything, trust in that vulnerable part of your heart shining bright in its rays of strength and bravery. If the Almighty can change so many things in the world now simply through something so small that we can’t even see with our naked eyes, trust that He can easily help us through it too.
As the world darkens,
don't forget to count the stars,
you'd be surprised to see so many of them
shining a little brighter tonight,
you might possibly lose count.
And not just the ones in the night sky,
but the ones hard at work on the ground -
the doctors, the nurses, the janitors,
the police and army forces,
the garbage collectors, the supermarket workers,
the ones who deliver our meals and our mails,
the ones who deliver love in tough times,
the ones risking their lives,
the ones shining bright behind silent twinkles
to save us.
P/S: This poem was also written for today's writing prompt, "Don't".
Updated: Oct 12
The world may seem quieter these days, you would wonder if it’s pausing for a hug, if it’s embracing you with a kind of stillness you had never discovered, if recent raindrops had showered the earth with an extra lullaby, and you would wonder if the pavements leading to the school hallway, the roundabouts you‘d usually circle to get your toddler to nap, and the wide open fields that welcomed your first cartwheels are doing okay and if they remember the sound of your footsteps, except that they don’t even need to try.
The world may seem quieter these days, but only as a way for you to listen. The footsteps of your children may form an orchestra of their own as they hurry down the stairs at home and up again in between fits of laughter. And even those giggles seem to come in rhythms you wouldn’t have noticed in between your usual daily rush. And then there are the skipping heartbeats at night as your fingers meet your child’s before bedtime - these heartbeats seem a little louder now.
And the pavements, the roundabouts, the wide open fields; they could hear too.