Living Another Year
It’s that time again. The time when I write stuff about myself. Usually, it’s lighter, even playful. But this year… it’s heavy. Sad. Still, traditions matter. They give us a thread to hold onto. Mine is simple: once a year, I step back and take a hard, honest look at my life. Am I actually living? Or am I just letting the days slide past, not realizing I’m wasting my own life? People think I’m active, driven — the kind who’s always moving forward. But the truth? I’ve spent years quietly waiting for my life to end. Not wanting to live it. Pretending I was “fine” while making decisions that didn’t feel like mine. Then, the tumors came. And suddenly death wasn’t some far-off idea — it was standing right there, laughing at my ridiculous defense mechanism of “not getting attached” so I wouldn’t have to fight for anything. That was my wake-up call. I decided things had to change. It took years. Years to finally start saying no to things I used to accept because, well… “I’m waiting for d...