7/12/25

Last night I dreamed of many people, but the moment I woke up, all the images felt as if they had been rinsed away. No matter how I tried, I could no longer really remember them.

I lay in bed with my eyes closed, feeling into my body, and suddenly realised that it is no longer like a few weeks ago, when waking up felt like falling straight into a dark, empty, endless well.

Today it was simply waking up.

Just waking up.

Last night I was listening to a podcast by Mel Robbins.

She invited her daughter, who had recently gone through a breakup, to come on the show, and there was one sentence that stayed with me:

“The worst advice you can give someone who has just gone through a breakup is, ‘You need to love yourself,’ because people who have just broken up often hate themselves.”

I had to laugh a little when I heard that.

I have been telling myself again and again that I need to love myself.

No wonder it has felt so hard.

All that trying to force myself to feel better, to force myself to move on, to force myself to enjoy Rio since I am here, not to hurt, not to think about him too often, is actually just another kind of forcing.

It is not honest to where I am right now.

This morning I reread an old blog post I wrote before Beans and I got together, It called I am inhabited by a cry.

Looking back now, it almost feels prophetic.

Even before we had decided to be together, some part of me was already sensing the possibilities that might unfold after we met. But I guess the insights of the mind and the feelings of the heart do not always arrive at the same time.

Of course, after we chose each other, we both loved, and tried very hard to tend to our relationship.

And then, all of a sudden, I just felt very tired.

Tired of missing Beans.

Tired of replaying my memories with him again and again.

Tired of how one tiny thought of him can turn into a wave of sorrow, sadness or anger.

And of course, there are also so many sweet, tender moments in there.

All of it mixed together is exhausting.

Really, fucking exhausting.

Yesterday I deleted our old chat history, because I do not want to keep going back to look at our memories.

It pulls me down into the mud.

So today I am planning on going to the Botanical Garden by myself.

Yesterday I had a call with my friend Mike.

He was sick.

From the other side of the world I wanted to help him, but there was not much I could actually do.

So I said, “How about I guide you through a breathing exercise?”

I took it seriously, and on the other end of the line I gently led him through a breathing practice.

In that moment, I felt my love beginning to gather again.

Right now it is not something I know how to pour into a romantic relationship.

Instead, it is for myself, for my family, for my friends, for new connections, and even for lives I barely know.

I can feel that a part of me inside is starting to move again, slowly and quietly, like something that had been frozen beginning to melt.

The funny thing is, Mel Robbins said, “Telling someone who has just gone through a breakup to ‘love yourself’ is the most bullshit advice.”

Yet after going around in such a big circle (still in it), crying so many days (still crying), writing so many words (still writing), and doing so many rounds of breathing practice (still practicing), I somehow find myself right back at this most fundamental question:

Can I slowly learn, without forcing myself, to still try, little by little, to love this self who is in the middle of healing?