sink.

What else is there?

Hello! It has been a minute. I have been here and there, you know. But I am here now.

I have divided this into two parts. They may or may not have similarities in the message, but as long as you get the idea.

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Some stale news for you: the world isn't getting any softer. I know this. You know this. We know this. Every headline screams it. Every phone notification is a tiny, numbing shockwave.

Life, as it turns out, isn't a gentle float down a lazy river. I mean, what could have been?

& when you feel like you are being brutally plunged into freezing, unforgiving water, sometimes you cannot understand why you are in it. Every time you try to, you are hit with your echoes. Nobody understands what it feels like. Not even you on some days. & the reason is simple: you find yourself trading your feelings for that cold numbness.

For me, I have learnt to harness my numbness.

Maybe “harness” is not the right word. Somehow, I have found a way to distil peace to the situation. I may have redefined numbness. I may have redistributed the essence of numbness.

Do you call it numbness still when you feel an overshadowing peace over something that would, before now, send your mind to the gallows, waiting for the millstone?

I think it is peace. Unsubstantiated peace for the situation, but one that can only be extra-terrestrial. Divine.

Maybe I have misinterpreted this peace to numbness. Misinterpreted. Misequated.

Let me see if I can explain this so you don’t misunderstand it.

In one of my previous newsletters, I had mentioned how I was grappling with numbness amid so many deaths. I automatically embodied it as a coping mechanism, born from an unwillingness to ease the bitterness that death leaves behind — especially in the manner in which these deaths came.

My assumption still holds sway on some days, but that is what I had translated to peace.

And it helped. To an extent. Not ideal, I admit.

But I am only numb to bad news.

This peace, however, is different. I am a man of faith & I have had encounters where my faith produced tremendous results. I mean, this is my heritage as a believer.

I think we underrate our strengths. I think a lot of times we still do not know how we survived that problem we survived.

I have seen the strong, crack and go again & again & again. Many times, a couple of them do not know how they did it.

The truth is, it’s rarely about inherited strength. More often, it’s about a stubborn, almost primal refusal to go under.

Again, I have observed that it is not just primal abilities that allow you to wade over waters. There has to be some supernatural strength, peace that allows you to paddle your boat unfazed in troubled waters.

That peace? That’s what I am talking about.

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2.

We often look for grand epiphanies, those lightning-bolt moments that change everything. But real grit often comes in granular increments. It’s the choice to put one foot in front of the other, even when your legs feel like lead.

It's the decision to learn something new, no matter how intimidating, when your old skills are suddenly obsolete.

It's recognising that failure isn't a tombstone; it's just a particularly nasty stumble. It is recognising that the noise will receive calmness in a bit.

You scrape your knees. But you get back up.

Because what's the alternative? Staying down?

Naturally, the sheer, beautiful absurdity of human endurance is one for the books. We build, we break, we rebuild. We fall in love, get heartbroken, then somehow, astonishingly, dare to love again.

We chase dreams, face rejection, and then, inexplicably, find the audacity to dream a new one. It's not about being immune to pain; it's about acknowledging the pain, sitting with it for a bit, then telling it to kindly move along.

We've got work to do. Life to live.

The currents are strong. The water, at times, will feel impossibly cold. But here’s the enduring truth I’ve learned over the years: the human spirit is an astonishingly buoyant thing. It remembers how to kick. It remembers how to breathe. And often, just when you think you can’t take another stroke, you find a pocket of calm, a ripple that pushes you forward.

You don’t need to conquer the ocean. Just keep swimming against the tide, you will find land soon.

What else is there?

What else is?

What else?

What?

…

Live jor.

Loves.