You Are Loved

You are loved that time you held the elevator door for someone. It was when you gave your warmest smile to a stranger—not because you were seeking their approval, but simply because that’s how kind you are.

You are loved the moment you closed your eyes while listening to your favorite song. It was when you were at your most beautiful and vulnerable, living fully inside your own world.

You are loved that afternoon when you did not rush to find shelter as the rain began to pour. It was when you let the wind mess your hair and your clothes form temporary polka-dot patterns, embracing the simple joy of the moment.

You are loved during that movie night when you cried in the middle of a silly, funny scene. It was when you let your tears fall freely, and someone saw just how soft and tender your heart truly is.

You are loved that time you got so excited over a small, seemingly insignificant thing. The sparkle in your eyes glimmered with pure delight, without any pretense. Someone loved how you expressed happiness so freely, unafraid of judgment.

You are loved every time you do your little dance before taking the first bite of a meal. It’s a reminder that joy is found in the tiniest moments, and that joy lives in you.

You are most loved when you least try—not because you had to be anything or anyone else, but because you are most beautiful when you are just being you.

I wish you had the eyes to see how people love you in these moments. So you wouldn’t feel the need to look left and right, searching for someone’s gaze. But most of all, I hope you love yourself too, because everything you’ve been searching for is already inside you.

Coconut Tree

This morning, I woke up early and found myself doom-scrolling on TikTok. It was mindless at first—until I stumbled on a video about mothers. Something about it struck a chord deep within me, and I came to a profound realization: I am the last leaf on this branch of a tree that has been growing for millennia.

I miss my mother. Thinking about her brought me to thoughts of her mother, my grandmother, a woman I only knew for a brief moment. I began to reflect on all the things I would never know about them—all the stories they carried, all the secrets they buried with them. I saw myself as part of this long, continuous journey, an endless thread weaving lives together across time. The year is 2024, and the cells in my body hold knowledge and wisdom passed down through generations.

I have long decided I will never have a child. The stories in my body will not be passed on to the next generation. I am a leaf that will never become a branch. This realization is both sad and beautiful. It saddens me to know I will never witness another life blossom out of my existence. Yet there is power in holding this last key—an autonomy in knowing that this is where my line ends.

I feel a deep gratitude for all the nameless, faceless lives that came before me. They carried the vessel of life forward, through hardship and joy, to ensure that I could exist today. I think of Kamala Harris’s words: “Do you think you just fell out of a coconut tree? You exist in the context of all in which you live and came before you.” I have never truly understood that quote until today.

Grandmothers and daughters. Mothers and sons. We are not just one individual but echoes of a gong that began to sound many, many years ago. It is so beautiful. You are not just a poem but an epic—stories of love, pain, and endurance all woven to become you.

I did not just fall out of a coconut tree. I am the last leaf of my branch, carrying with me the legacy of countless lives before it falls to the earth. And I find beauty in that.