I think back to some of the most trying periods of my life and realize:

In the midst of feeling like I’ve lost everything, I feel the closest to myself, to divinity — to god.

From death deciding to claim a friend when her life had just barely started to being cheated on by the person you thought you could trust — your mind goes numb with shock, then the rest of your body follows.

It’s as if muscle memory regresses, and your knees forget to unbuckle itself — letting you crash to the floor; Your mind and body choose to not register the agony your heart is experiencing.

Life has a funny way of carrying you through its chaotic tides, merciless as it witnesses you helplessly crashing and sinking against the cruelty of its waves.

Every moment I fall apart, I find it easier when I allow the intelligence of tragedy to contort me however it finds fitting. I don’t put up a fight. I don’t resist the cruelty of life.

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I wait for the storm to pass until I’m left with the deafening silence of having to put all the pieces back together. I know that if I pick up the pieces slowly, and examine each broken shard containing false hope, unmet expectations, all the “could have been(s),” I would slowly accept how silly it is to try and control the plans life has set out for me.

Sometimes, you can plan things so meticulously, and life has other ideas in store for you.

I use to wonder what the point of life is if it’s ridden with inevitable suffering.

The aftermath of being thwarted to experience one side of life is that the pendulum naturally swings to the opposite side:

Strength. Beauty. Gratitude. Meaning.

When light bleeds into life again, I find myself appreciating the smaller, simple moments — such as the smile I receive as I pass an older lady by a park bench on a spring day or witness how perfectly the petals cradles the rosebuds.

Every single moment, object, glance holds resonance — purpose. Maybe because I’m keenly aware of how easily these things can be taken away from me, those moments are fleeting and fragile.

In the wretchedness of having life cycling through the endings and beginnings, it’s hard to take things for granted.