It’s been a month since this storm began—a month since the dark forces in my life struck, pushing me out of the world I once knew and forcing me to navigate an unknown, turbulent galaxy. Much like when the innocent Jedi were overwhelmed by the dark side, I was blindsided by actions that turned my life upside down, leaving me grappling with questions I never thought I’d have to face. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Darth Vader once said, embodying the very darkness that preys on doubt and fear. And yet, much like the Rebellion clinging to hope, I refuse to give in to that darkness, holding onto the belief that the light can still prevail.
In 30 days, everything familiar slipped away—my home, my sense of stability, and the certainty that I once found comfort in. The sudden shift has made me question the foundations of what I thought was real. Doubt, fear, and heartbreak have accompanied me every step of the way. At the heart of this chaos is someone I once trusted deeply, someone who has taken a path I still struggle to understand, my Queen Éowyn.
Despite the confusion and hurt, I can’t help but reflect on how things could still be fixed, not by returning to what was, but by creating something new. Perhaps it’s about transforming what’s broken into something that could be even stronger, something that acknowledges our mistakes while building on the lessons learned. “Áre tuluva,” as the Elves say—“day shall come again.”
Through all the sleepless nights, flashbacks, and moments where everything felt lost, I’ve been fortunate to have people like Rosa, Yoshi, and Gloria step in when I needed it most. Their support has been a guiding light, much like the small acts of kindness and courage that inspire hope even in the darkest of times. Their belief in me has kept me from sinking completely, even when it felt like I was drowning.
And yet, despite everything, a part of me can’t let go of the belief that this isn’t the end of the story. I still hold onto the possibility that this chapter could be closed with healing, growth, and perhaps even reconciliation—not by clinging to the past, but by forging something new that’s wiser, stronger, and more resilient.
Adam Young’s words resonate with me: “The silence isn’t so bad, till I look at my hands and feel sad.” That line captures the emptiness I feel sometimes—like there’s a void where there used to be warmth. But in that silence, there’s also room for reflection, for growth, and maybe even a new kind of connection. I hope that Queen Éowyn, wherever she is, sees it too, even if it’s from a different perspective.
I’m reminded of another line: “The stars lean down to kiss you, and I lie awake and miss you.” It’s that lingering hope that something better can emerge from the ashes—a connection that, though different, could be built to last in ways we never considered before.
Maybe one day, like the end of a Star Wars chapter, there will be a new beginning—one where peace, understanding, and mutual respect reign. Until then, I’ll keep walking this path, guided by hope, no matter how far away it might seem. Whatever happens next, I know that darkness can’t last forever. There’s a flicker of light on the horizon, and I’m holding onto it with everything I’ve got.