I do not know if anyone reads, if my words reach even one mind, or if they land at all. Yet it does not matter in this moment. Everything that has accumulated inside — the sorrow, the injustices, the unspoken — needs release. Life moves on regardless, and I can do nothing but let it flow and accept its pace.

I arrived in a place that challenges everything, a place that does not leave anyone untouched. I thought I would learn it, learn its people, maintain control over my steps. But control was never mine. My struggles leak outward, visible in moods that swing like small storms. And yet, even amid frustration, gestures of care appear. Yesterday’s anger met today’s kindness — food left quietly, space respected, attention offered without demand. It is a rhythm I cannot command, a pattern I do not understand, yet one I cannot ignore.

Often I have wanted to leave, impatient with my own persistence, convinced I should already be elsewhere. But the timing has not come, or perhaps it is forming slowly, quietly. When it is right, it will unfold without effort. I thought I came to know the place, its people, its ways. In truth, I am learning myself — the weight of silence I have carried, the patterns of my own mind, the stubborn pulse of life that insists even when I resist.

I give the land the blame for my moods, but it is years of unspoken things, accumulated in corners of myself, that weigh heaviest. And yet, trust appears in the spaces I do not command, in moments I do not plan. The unseen gestures, the quiet continuities, the subtle insistence of life — they teach without speaking, hold without pressing, guide without instructions.

And so I remain, observing, releasing, accepting. There is a strange intimacy in surrendering to what I cannot control, in letting life move around me, through me, without forcing its course. In these quiet, unseen places, I discover the small threads of trust, fragile yet persistent, weaving through the turbulence, reminding me that presence itself is enough.