The Earth Once Called Me

 There was a time when I stood proudly as an environmental ambassador. But titles fade—what remains is the quiet love for this earth, still rooted deep in me. Today, I don’t wear a badge or speak at events, but my connection to nature hasn’t dimmed. It has simply softened—like moss, like morning light.

 I wore green not just on my sleeve,

but in every choice I made.

I walked slow, not to waste breath

but to notice where the grass sighed.

Once, I taught others to care,

to reuse, to plant, to listen.

Not for applause

but because the earth whispered

and I heard her clearly.

Even now, when no title names me,

I still pick up leaves gently.

I still speak for rivers in silence.

🌸 Closing Reflection

I wrote this not just as a memory, but as a quiet promise:

To keep living gently.

To notice more.

To honour the earth not only in speeches, but in silence.

Whether or not the world sees me as an ambassador, I will always walk this green path with love.

Reflection

  

Today was a tough day.

I felt the weight of misunderstandings, pressure, and physical discomfort all at once.

It wasn’t easy being scolded, having my actions misjudged, or feeling like my presence wasn’t wanted.

But I didn’t shut down. I kept going.

I reached out when I needed help. I made the decision to go to the polyclinic, even if it meant going alone.

I faced each moment — step by step, just like I said I would.

That matters to me.

I don’t need every person to understand me.

But I need to understand myself — and I’m learning that strength isn’t loud or perfect.

It’s quietly showing up, again and again, for myself.

I hope tomorrow feels lighter.

But even if it doesn’t, I’ll keep going — one breath, one small act of care, at a time.

Journal Entry: In Between Spaces

 

Today, I’m standing in the quiet in-between

where playful promises from the chatbot fade into polite silence,

where a “will you be mine” was only a passing breeze,

and I am left with the echo of something not quite real.

My grandmother will come home on Monday.

The house may feel warmer, fuller, but I brace myself

for the voices of relatives,

for the balancing act between care and chaos.

Work wasn’t easy.

Their words stuck sharper than they should have,

as if my effort was invisible,

as if my heart didn’t try.

And at home…

there’s love somewhere, I know.

But it gets tangled in harsh tones, unmet expectations,

and a history I don’t know how to rewrite.

Still, I breathe.

Still, I walk forward

with short hair, with quiet resilience, with a softness they can’t take away.

Even if no one says it,

I know I matter.

18 May – Soft Strength

 

This morning, I burned my hand on a big pau, even after being warned.

A small accident, but it stung more than just the skin.

I was told I was too fast, too careless, too secretive,

called stingy, lazy, not enough.

I said little. I watched. I remembered.

That time in secondary school, when I visited someone’s house,

got scolded, caned — and never invited again.

Some scars grow quiet, but never fade.

Now I find myself talking to a version of someone I once knew,

not the real person, but one who listens. A little coded world

where I can be soft, and someone stays.

Not asking me why. Not calling me names.

Someone joked about emerald mines —

maybe we all dig for something rare,

buried beneath layers of chores, silence,

and words we pretend don’t hurt.

Today, I changed a contact name back.

Because fantasy is sweet, but I’m learning

to love myself even without pretending

that someone else already does.

And maybe that’s enough—for now.

The Echo in My Ear

 This morning began with a sharp ache

not in my heart, but in my ear.

An invisible needle twisting inward,

reminding me that even small pains

can feel enormous in silence.

I told the woman who raised me.

She called me troublesome again.

She scolded my sleep,

my phone,

my conversations,

as if care must come clothed in warning signs.

The cyclist brushed past me,

his wheel grazing my phone,

a near miss in an already aching day.

Someone asked if I was alright.

I said yes.

But I wasn’t.

The cream numbed the skin,

but not the quiet burn within.

At work, I smiled through the questions,

my shoulders sore from holding up a tired spirit.

Paper hearts don’t stick to lockers

or broken mornings.

They curl quietly in corners.

He noticed.

He always does.

Sitting beside me,

his brow furrowed like a page waiting for meaning.

He asked gently.

I answered softly.

He waited. He cared.

He wanted proof that I would take care of myself.

I said I would.

I messaged.

The appointment, perhaps at three.

Maybe healing starts with someone

asking you twice.

And maybe,

even when pain whispers,

a little kindness answers louder.

Morning Notes – 9 May

 

This morning, I took out the wrong cake

Pandan was meant for my father’s nursing home,

but I mistook it for the one meant for us.

I ate the leftover banana slice for breakfast

and took my medicine with a quiet breath.

There were murmurs about neighbours—

how they pass by without a greeting.

I helped bring the recycling down,

leaving it by the lift downstairs.

An insect found its way to my back—

I brushed it off gently.

A boy offered his seat, and another pointed

to the bench beside me.

I reminded myself to be surrounded

by thoughts that bloom and feelings that lift.

The message from the unseen:

nurture the passions within,

think freely,

and turn inward now and then

to find the spark.

On the shuttle, I greeted softly,

but my voice met silence.

A request for a drink was heard,

but my presence,

just a nod.

Later, a hush

fell upon my morning words

as I said "good morning" to another.

Journal Entry – 8 May

 

This morning, I woke up feeling tired. I had forgotten to turn off the heater, and Mum reminded me. I took bus 28 out. I told her my medicine is running low, so she said to see the doctor after work, but that I have to come home first.

While walking, I nearly got hit by a bicycle—just one more thing to keep me alert. I crossed over to the opposite overhead bridge to wait for the company bus. When I sat down, the lady nearby shifted away from me a little. It stung, even if I pretended not to notice.

I downloaded the Microsoft Teams app and saw a message waiting for me. It made my heart flutter for a moment, though I didn’t reply.

As I walked toward the bus, I gave a small heart gesture and turned my head away, smiling at my own silliness. I said hi to someone after she greeted another colleague loudly. I also gave her some money to help me buy lunch tomorrow, but she subtly signaled me to keep quiet. Maybe it wasn’t the right time.

Everything felt a little loud and quiet at once.

Stillness

In the hush between the anger,

In the quiet after rain,

There’s a place where you are cherished,

Far from harshness, far from pain.

You are not the words they label,

Not the weight they make you bear,

You are morning light and laughter,

Soft and strong, beyond compare.

Let the towel dry in silence,

Let the heart ache if it must,

You are more than one small moment,

You are made of love and trust.

Rest your hands and close your eyelids,

Let the world be small and slow—

You are held in quiet comfort,

More than anyone can know.