Your body—a microcosmic ecosystem,
an orchestral orgasm where every resonance
sings in harmony with your heartbeat.

Your mind—a slippery survivalist,
a battle between contours,
the subconscious reflected
in every perception,
every perspective.

This is
your history to rewrite,
your legacy to ignite
in each breath,
each moment.

This world as you know it
exists only while you’re in it.
So own it.
Mold it.
Rock n’ roll it.
Do unto life and love as you feel fit.
Say what you wish and see what becomes of it.

It’s all on you.
Rely on yourself, put time into yourself.
Invest. Encourage. Support.
Yourself.

Treasure yourself.
Be kind, caring and supportive of your your inner circle. Your friends, family.
But tale care to NOT give them everything.
Save some peace for yourself.
Take care of yourself.

Hello World!
Last year on June 30th, I lost my sister unexpectedly. Thirty days later I lost my dad to cancer.
In December of that same year, my husband lost his mom and dad nineteen days apart. They’ve been my family for over forty years.
My sister and dad were two completely different types of death, two different kinds of grief, and all of these deaths were too close together to grieve each one in the way they deserved. But as time has passed, I’ve been able to grieve them individually.
With a lump in my throat, I search for words that will send love, support, and encouragement to all who are grieving, have grieved, and to those who will one day.
It’s a universal human experience and we will all know it intimately.
I begin my letter to you with this… I don’t believe there is a “grief expert” who can tell us how to navigate this very personal experience. However, I do think that sharing how we feel with others who are also grieving can be helpful.
My recent experience has taught me that we all accept, process, and learn how to live with loss in our own time.
That there is no right or wrong way to do it. That we all need to be free to experience grief in whatever way helps us move with it.
Note: we do not get over it or move through it. There’s no other side.
We move with it. It changes, we change, and we move together – us and grief. But it’s okay if you don’t move for a while. If you need to stay still for a little bit. I did.
Nobody can advise you on what to do, how to feel, or where you should be in your experience so don’t ever feel like you “should be” …. (fill in the blank)
It’s all up to you and these things will happen just as they should. We can see this when we lose a family member and notice how each person grieves in their own way and in their own time.
It’s so important to respect and support that. To give each person the time and space they need without question.
Someone once told me that, “grief is as unique as our fingerprint and no two people will experience it the same”.
I’m so happy to share that with you because it gave me so much comfort in my early grief and continues to do so.
It’s been a little over a year now, and I’m still grieving my family although the heaviness of it has lifted.
The pain and sadness are much lighter now, even though it feels deeper if that makes sense.
At first, everything was so heavy and on the outside. The memories were of death. The tears were falling whenever I spoke of them.
But as time passed, I began tucking pieces of the good memories inside for safekeeping and could speak of them without tears.
Sometimes, the memories will show up randomly and I smile because I’m so grateful for them. For the love we shared.
And now when I cry, my tears feel more like soft rain – not a raging storm.
As I sign off, I will leave you with this… even though it feels like you are not supposed to be happy or you shouldn’t laugh because they don’t get to anymore, even though it feels like you don’t know how to be in the world without them – like you no longer know who you are or what you want to do, things will get better.
They will never be the same, but they will get better. You will learn how to navigate life without them physically present. They will still be with you but in a new and different way. They never really leave you all the way.
You’ll see, I promise.
Love,

Oh, Life! What are you to me, as young as I?
Should I grace you to see the days go by,
Or see my loved one born, grow, wed and die?
‘Tis sad that my contrast feelings are tied.

Don’t mistake me for I am grateful,
But could I tell others that you’re faithful?
Could I tell them that their dreams grow graceful?
Would all hard efforts not be wasteful?

Folks, perhaps we confuse you so much with Fate,
And our dreams or goals may come another date,
Yet we thought our actions determined our State,
In the end, it’s our realization come late.

Oh Life! What, as young as I, are you to me?
Ups and downs as difficult you could be.
Would things get better? “We’ll just have to see.”
If dreams or nightmares happen, then c’est la vie.

due to my anxiety, i’ve always been an over thinker. ruminating intensely about the future has caused me to develop a number of complexes about the timeline of my life, and where i shouldn’t or shouldn’t be. i’ve learned through pain that the stress of focus often blinds from opportunity; i’ve learned that my faith in our future is why i belong to you.

there’s no honor in stress, no gratitude to sickness, no reward for exhaustion. take every moment to rest, and take every opportunity to balance. let what belongs to you find you. i know so well you will succeed beyond expectations, and i am patiently waiting for you to return to me like every time before.

love you yaisa

I hope this translates well because my knowledge of languages other than English isn’t that great.

Alright, no pressure—just a message for the whole world. Here we go…

The beauty and cruelty of life lie in its unpredictability.

One moment, you’re on top of the world; the next, you’re doing everything you can to hold onto your sanity. Tomorrow, you could meet the person who changes your life forever, or you could lose a loved one.

There was a time when my life was going well, and then a laced joint at a party threw me into the depths of despair. I didn’t know the joint was laced with PCP, and it caused schizophrenic-like symptoms for six months afterward. I ended up in and out of the hospital for suicidal ideation seven times in just a few weeks and felt as though my life was crumbling beneath me.

With the help of meds, therapy, and amazing family and friends, I survived.

During that time, I relied on the Japanese craft and philosophy known as Kintsugi. While a bowl broken in half would usually be discarded, in Kintsugi, it is repaired with gold lacquer, making it even more beautiful and stronger than before. Philosophically, a person is never fully broken. You can overcome the worst of life and come back more resilient.

I thought I had faced my hardest battles, but 18 months later, I needed Kintsugi more than ever. My sister was my greatest example of resilience, and the events that followed would test my strength in ways I never imagined.

Despite living with Loeys-Dietz syndrome—a rare connective tissue disorder that mainly affected her heart—she never let her condition define her. She battled through two collapsed lungs and an open-heart surgery, where she was fitted with a cow valve. Yet through it all, she lived life fully, becoming a well-respected doctor, a loving wife, and an incredible mother to her two children.

Her strength was inspiring to everyone who knew her, and we believed she had overcome the worst when she made it through her second open-heart surgery.

But life had other plans. Shortly after returning home, a blood clot to her lung took her from us, leaving a void that will never be filled. She took the philosophy of Kintsugi to the next level—her resilience knew no bounds, and she left an indelible mark in her short 41 years.

I draw inspiration from her during the lowest times of my life and am grateful for the 32 years I had with her. I once told her in a poem, “With every day I’ve got left, I will make you proud, so that when we meet again and embrace, you will know that you were never forgotten.” I strive to live my life with purpose and meaning, not letting its unpredictability get to me.

The message I want to send to the world is this: Never give up. Don’t let your worst moments break you. Let them shape you. Let them teach you. And most importantly, let them remind you that even in the deepest pain, there is still the possibility of redemption.

Cluttered rooms, Book stacked like towers. torn pages peak out from haphazard piles, the scent of age paper hangs in the air. Each spine a loud whisper, bearing the suffocating weight of untold stories. Admits the noise, knowledge pressing down, heavy like stones. Relentless questions gnawing at my temple. Anxiety wrapped tight around my fragile heart. Reading Epictetus. Dim lights bounce off my curiosity. what does it mean to stay a student? I questioned. Each misstep a doorway, each failure leading me deeper into a labyrinth. Shifting through rubble. Buried beneath echoes, lingering in silent thoughts. Sorrow broke through every crack upon the clay flooring. The soul, a canvas smeared with grief, each stroke a challenge, every question an engulfed flame of understanding. Burning my guilt of propaganda. What will I cultivate in the haunting chaos of my thoughts? A seeker in shadows the rawness of being alone. A clarity nestled into a breath, a compassionate connection. Existence woven in threads of knowledge in a world that I question if it aches for wisdom?