There was a time I thought I’d never make it out. Sadness wasn’t just a feeling any more, it became my closest companion. Days start blurred into nights filled with silent cries, soul screams that no one could hear… except me.
And honestly? I got used to it. I didn’t want to, but the surrounding chaos inside me made it feel inevitable.
COVID took so much from us, more than we can think of, more than we imagine. Not just people or plans, but our sense of normalcy, of safety. That loss never stayed behind. It walked with me quietly and constantly.
One day, I looked up at the sky and whispered for help.
Nothing happened.
So, I started to make peace with my new normal.
In adapting, I drowned. I slipped deeper into something heavier, darker, something I haven’t fully escaped.
People love to say, “You just have to try. The gap between who you are and who you want to be can only be filled by effort.”
But what if you try and still see nothing?
What if you do everything a ‘good girl’ is supposed to work hard, stay kind, follow the rules, and it’s still not enough?
Then, one year later, life surprised me.
I met her.
My wildflower.
The light in my story.
She was tiny, bright, and filled with love. She didn’t just enter my life, she became the centre of it.
It started with her and, in many ways, still begins and ends with her. I never cared much for flowers… but when she handed me one, that tiny gesture made flowers my new favourite thing. She gave meaning to my chaos.
She is my wildflower.
I still remember the day she started speaking, barely a few words, but when she called me bua, I froze. It felt like my heart bloomed in places I didn’t know existed. It was one of my favourite moments of all time. Something about it just cracked me open.
But life — real, raw life — doesn’t pause for beautiful moments. First, my work distanced me from her. But now, when I finally make time, another storm brews the pressure to marry someone I don’t even know, to be a part of a drama I never signed up for. And it’s slowly, painfully coming for me.
I hated myself for not speaking up to my parents.
But I don’t.
I don’t know what’s stopping me.
Maybe I don’t want to hurt them. Maybe it’s my responsibility as an elder sister. Maybe I’m exhausted trying.
All I know is the tension, the weight of not standing up for myself, It’s slowly tearing me apart.
And the worst part? My inner storm is beginning to affect her.
She wants my attention, tugs at my sleeve with her smile, asks me to play, to laugh, but every few minutes, the darkness creeps back in. I miss her moments. I’m losing her piece by piece. And now, she’s getting hurt… because of me.
How could I do this to my wildflower?
She runs to me when I visit, grabs my hand, and signals to leave her house, to escape with me. She wants to be in my room, in my world, in my quiet. And it kills me that I can’t give her what she needs because I’m still fighting for air in a world that keeps pushing me down.
If I abandon her, who will care for her the way I do?
Who will make her smile like I do?
She is the only one who makes me feel seen.
And I somehow am her important part of her small, tiny world.
But I don’t know how much time I have left with her. Life is moving fast. Good things don’t last. And the world doesn’t wait for healing.
But if there’s one thing I know, it’s this:
I will always carry her in me.
In the wild parts of my heart, where pain met purpose.
In the softest corners of my grief, where hope bloomed anyway.
She is and will forever be my first child, my wildflower.
I will try to be with her without my agony.
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