Blackbird was on my shoulder
There was season in life when loneliness is not just the absence of sound, but a heavy, physical pressure weighing down on your chest. Being far away from home, standing in the middle of a city where everything felt unfamiliar, and navigating life as an only child in my almost mid-twenties taught me one brutal truth that you have to do everything completely by yourself.
There was no older sibling to ask for guidance, no mirror of shared experience to show me how someone my age was supposed to handle the weight of the world. Everything had to be figured out from scratch. And in that raw, overwhelming transition I was entirely, breathtakingly by myself.
I swear to God, I swear to God. There was no one, there was nobody.
People passed by me every day, but everyone was too caught up in their own lives. There was no warm circle of women to pull me close, no one to simply look into my eyes and ask, “Hey, how was your day? Are you okay?” The social spaces around me back then felt foreign and unkind, filled with a superficial noise that only made the silence inside me louder. I didn’t have access to professional help yet and the incredible friends who now anchor my life had not yet arrived. I was fighting a war inside my head with zero ammunition and no safe harbor.
When you are drowning, and every single hand you reach for pulls back or ignores you, you become desperate. You don’t look for the most morally pristine or socially approved lifeline, you just look for anything that will keep your head above water long enough for you to breathe.
When I was on the verge of giving up every day under the weight of life’s pressures, work load/demands, and harsh clashes of character in perantauan, a soul guided me up step by step. A soul that convinced me I could survive.
Ideal? No. When someone is on the brink of drowning and not a single hand reaches out to help, they often just grab onto whatever is closest — even if it’s wrong, even if it leaves people pointing fingers and sneering.
People love to judge the choices of a drowning person. They point fingers at the wreckage, dissecting every flaw and every unorthodox survival tactic, completely blind to the fact that they weren’t there when the water was rising up to my neck. They never asked how many nights I cried myself to sleep or how hard it was just to keep my soul from fracturing into dust. They only saw the surface. They never knew the quiet, desperate terror of trying to survive a storm entirely on your own.
Yet, somehow, that harrowing chapter became the crucible that forged who I am today.
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Looking back, it taught me a profound empathy I never knew I possessed. Today I no longer judge people by the clothes they wear, the titles they hold, or how outwardly pious they appear. True character isn’t measured by ritual, it is measured by whether or not you have the basic human decency to care when someone is breaking inside. I’ve learned that people who make messy choices are often just exhausted, tired souls screaming for help in the only clumsy, desperate ways they know how because no one ever bothered to check if they were okay.
And oh, how my world has changed since then.
Today, my environment is so much healthier, softer, and grounded. I am no longer wandering in the dark. I am blessed with a circle of incredible women, a true sisterhood who listen, directing my thoughts and hold space for me with the warmth of older sisters. The people who cross my path now bring wisdom, maturity, and a vast, non-judgmental perspective.
Because of everything I endured, I have grown into a much brighter, calmer version of myself. I have built a solid foundation, complete with clear, healthy boundaries of what I can and cannot tolerate, simply because I finally took the time to truly know and love myself.
If I could go back to the little girl who once carried worlds in her wide, wondering eyes, and feared she wasn’t enough, I would hold her so tight and whisper: “You are going to make it. You didn’t know it then, standing in the middle of storms and unfamiliar rooms. You were so brave. You held onto whatever you could just to stay afloat, and you survived the exact moments you thought would break you.”
To the girl who survived the harshest winter of her life with trembling hands and a heavy heart: “I love you. So muuuuch. Look at us now. We made it through every single tear and the light we carry now is entirely our own.”
Acknowledgement
To Mba Bella, Mba Dita, and Mba Imel, thank you for always looking out for me and standing so steadfastly, always being the safest place to hold on, to share everything by my side.
To Mas Lana, thank you for being such a wonderful, thoughtful mind to talk to, and for sharing so many profound spaces for reflection in work, in life.
To Bu Indah, thank you for being my safest place, my secure harbor when I was outgrewly tired fighting waves that exceeded my capacity, the one who saved and hold my hand since the beginning, tightly.
To Kak Uwi, thank you for always being my safe vent whenever the toxicity and stress of that “organization” environment began to overwhelm me in this city.
— November 04th ‘26.
