My tribute

When a Year Is Just a Number There are days when getting out of bed feels like an act of defiance against gravity. Today is one of those days. I used to coax myself into movement with small errands—go out, buy one item, breathe the outside air. It helped sometimes. But now, even that feels impossible. The energy I once summoned from somewhere, anywhere, just doesn’t show up anymore. I’ve signed up for yoga over and over again, hoping it might be the thing to bring me back to myself. The mat remains untouched. The emails sit unopened. There’s a weight on my chest that no amount of stretching or breathing seems to move. I feel completely alone. It’s not the solitude of a quiet afternoon. It’s the kind of loneliness that hums beneath the surface, that colors everything gray. The kind that makes the world feel far away, even when people are nearby. I think about going to India, something that once held the promise of warmth and connection—but now the very idea feels daunting. There is no joy in the plan. No anticipation. Just fatigue and uncertainty. And yea, a year is just a number. People keep asking me about the 27th, like it will bring closure, like the end of a year will somehow unlock peace or clarity. But no magic will happen after the 27th. Just another day. Just another breath. I’ve learned that grief doesn’t obey calendars. Sana used to say she felt stuck. I understand that now more than ever. I feel stuck in a world that no longer feels familiar. I don’t feel happiness—not the kind that bubbles up uninvited. Not the kind that lingers. Even my core family, the ones who remain, feel like distant satellites in a world that used to revolve around her. Sana was the thread that wove us together. She brought light, humor, chaos, meaning. Without her, we’re each floating in our own pain, missing the person who grounded us all. I want to break free—truly, I do. I want to run, to escape, to start over. But I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what freedom would look like anymore. I feel very alone in this place, suspended between the life I had and the life I don’t know how to live. The medication quiets the racing in my head, slows the storm—but it doesn’t heal the heart. It’s not a cure. It doesn’t restore joy. It just softens the noise. So here I am, writing again. Because right now, it’s the only thing that feels real. The only way I can still reach out, still process, still breathe through the weight of this day. If you’re here, reading this—thank you. For witnessing. For holding space. For understanding, even from afar Sana — A Soul Set Free You were never just of this world, Sana— A soul of light, passing through, Dancing in dust, loving with softness Then returning to what is true. This veil of life could not contain The depth of your infinite goodness Now you are among where hearts are whole, And time has no name or place. You are not gone, only hidden, A breath in the wind, a star in the night. We feel you in silence, in prayer, in love— In every glimmer of Divine light.