to you
Read This When You Feel Too Small
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A LETTER I ONCE SENT TO MY SISTER, NOW SHARED WITH YOU
IT CARRIES THE SAME THOUGHTS AND EMOTIONS, PASSED FROM ONE PERSON TO ANOTHER
to you
Read This When You Feel Too Small
Lately, I’ve felt a bit lost
Or perhaps I’ve realized that I’ve been running forward in a constant state of anxiety,
never truly stopping to look at what lies right in front of me.
My life has demanded so much independence. I haven't had many chances to experience life outside of "doing it all myself." Maybe that’s why I’m still so clumsy at asking for help. I’m still learning that once I reach out, how the other person receives it isn't my burden to carry anymore. It still feels strange and new.
It’s been five years since I left home. Looking at my life now, I feel stuck in a middle ground: the situation isn't bad enough to force a desperate leap, but it’s not fulfilling enough to bring me joy or excitement for the future. I can’t tell yet if I’m trapped, or if this is just a stepping stone to the next version of me.
I’ve even started questioning my heart. A quiet fear that my own laziness might keep me from building my own utopia, leading me to lean on unrealistic expectations. I’ve never doubted myself like this before. It makes me feel small.
Right now, I’m sitting in a cafe, watching large leaves outside being pelted by a relentless downpour.
In Korean, we say the leaves are "hitting" the rain. But that feels too human-centric. From the perspective of the leaf, they aren't being "hit" - they are drinking the rain.
They are digesting it, absorbing it, and making it their own.
Isn't that where we are right now?
The heavy rain of emotions, the "blues," and this feeling of being stuck - it feels like we are being beaten down by the storm. But what if we are actually absorbing the nutrients we need to grow? What if we are just drinking it all in so we can bloom later? The key isn't the rain itself, but the How: how we turn this water into fuel instead of letting it wash us away.
I often think of the times we sat together, just talking. Those moments were my healing. They reminded me that I’m not alone - that in this vast, lonely universe, I am connected to another soul by a tiny, glowing thread.
I want to find those moments again. This feeling of being lost isn't a good one.
i miss you, xx
Time is finite, and 30% of mine is already spent. For the time that remains, I want us to move forward with more intention. I believe that’s how the vision for our lives becomes clear. The next 70% can then be a journey where we simply follow the footprints of that vision, one step at a time.
I often think of the times we sat together, just talking. Those moments were my healing. They reminded me that I’m not alone—that in this vast, lonely universe, I am connected to another soul by a tiny, glowing thread.
I want to find those moments again. This feeling of being lost isn't a good one.
I miss you, xx
Right now, I’m sitting in a cafe, watching large leaves outside being pelted by a relentless downpour.
In Korean, we say the leaves are "hitting" the rain. But that feels too human-centric. From the perspective of the leaf, they aren't being "hit" - they are drinking the rain.
They are digesting it, absorbing it, and making it their own.
Isn't that where we are right now?
The heavy rain of emotions, the "blues," and this feeling of being stuck - it feels like we are being beaten down by the storm. But what if we are actually absorbing the nutrients we need to grow? What if we are just drinking it all in so we can bloom later? The key isn't the rain itself, but the How: how we turn this water into fuel instead of letting it wash us away.
I often think of the times we sat together, just talking. Those moments were my healing. They reminded me that I’m not alone - that in this vast, lonely universe, I am connected to another soul by a tiny, glowing thread.
I want to find those moments again. This feeling of being lost isn't a good one.
Time is finite, and 30% of mine is already spent. For the time that remains, I want us to move forward with more intention. I believe that’s how the vision for our lives becomes clear. The next 70% can then be a journey where we simply follow the footprints of that vision, one step at a time.
I often think of the times we sat together, just talking. Those moments were my healing. They reminded me that I’m not alone—that in this vast, lonely universe, I am connected to another soul by a tiny, glowing thread.
I want to find those moments again. This feeling of being lost isn't a good one.
i miss you, xx
I miss you, xx
My life has demanded so much independence. I haven't had many chances to experience life outside of "doing it all myself." Maybe that’s why I’m still so clumsy at asking for help. I’m still learning that once I reach out, how the other person receives it isn't my burden to carry anymore. It still feels strange and new.
It’s been five years since I left home. Looking at my life now, I feel stuck in a middle ground: the situation isn't bad enough to force a desperate leap, but it’s not fulfilling enough to bring me joy or excitement for the future. I can’t tell yet if I’m trapped, or if this is just a stepping stone to the next version of me.
I’ve even started questioning my heart. A quiet fear that my own laziness might keep me from building my own utopia, leading me to lean on unrealistic expectations. I’ve never doubted myself like this before. It makes me feel small.
Lately, I’ve felt a bit lost
Or perhaps I’ve realized that I’ve been running forward in a constant state of anxiety,
never truly stopping to look at what lies right in front of me.