October 29 – The Morning I Kept Moving Forward

The morning began with my mum’s voice reminding me of time.

The sky still held its quiet before the rush.

I hurried, letting her bathe first,

and left for the lift before she came down.

The bus was crowded,

so I sat by the wheelchair space,

feeling the gaze of a stranger who did not know my story.

When I alighted, a woman pulled her child closer,

as if distance could protect her from what she did not understand.

I crossed the road, took the lift,

and a runner brushed past, his arm grazing my phone.

The rain came soon after—thick, heavy, uninvited.

Inside the bus to work, I watched droplets race down the glass,

each one tracing its own fragile direction.

At the lockers, I bumped into someone familiar.

The clink of my keychain startled me back to the moment.

I saw faces—Darren, Xin Hui, Teck Mui—

small reminders that even routine carries echoes of connection.

A hand reached for mine, then let go.

I walked the stairs alone, steady in my own steps.

At lunch, I heard words that stung—

a sharp tone, a misunderstanding,

yet I chose not to let it stay.

The rain had taught me something:

even when skies turn dark,

we keep walking toward what matters.

Today, I am grateful for the quiet will to continue,

for the strength to move forward

and to focus on what truly holds light.