As the year 2025 come to end, I find myself counting blessings instead of tallying tears. Not because life has been gentle. It hasn’t been.
Life remains what it has always been; uneven, demanding, and often indifferent to effort. And yet, I know this with clarity now that I am a lucky person.

Not lucky because I was spared. Not lucky because I was untouched by loss. But lucky in the way grace keeps finding me in ordinary forms: a steady light when the room grows dim, hands that appear when mine begin to shake, brief moments of bliss in the middle of surviving chaos.

I live in abundance. Not excess, not ease; but abundance measured in timing.

Help never arrived early. It rarely came in overflow. But it came, at the right hour, at the right pace, in portions precise enough to sustain, not spoil. Enough to keep going. Enough to remind me that I was being held.

I have always been the happy-go-lucky one. The one who laughs, adapts, pours another glass, and keeps moving forward. This year taught me that contentment is not optimism without weight, but grace made visible in ordinary forms: light that stays lit, wind that keeps moving, rain that falls as it always does.

The future remains unknown.
There are days when hope feels fragile, almost irresponsible to trust. On those days, I lean into faith not as certainty, but as balance when the ground feels unsteady. And I hold love for life itself, which are imperfect, demanding but still worth showing up for. Love as the reason I continue, even when continuing feels heavy.

I end the year grateful, aware of my luck, humbled by grace, still standing in borrowed light.

And as the year begins again, I choose to live today.