I took a look at the moving clouds in the skies this morning and wondered to myself, how do moving clouds sound like?
In that moment, I felt lucky to be here, alive and enjoying life in slow motion.
A thought suddenly came to my mind. How old am I now?
How many years has it been since?
Six years. Six bonus years since the day decided not to take my life at 26.
If I would have ended my life at 26, I wouldn't have seen the birth of my second nephew and first niece.
Their first birthdays. And all the birthdays after that.
I would have missed seeing my mother be happy again. Her cooking. Her love for me. All the gifts she gave me that I didn't ask for, but greatly loved.
I would have not been able to fulfil my duties of taking care of mom and dad in the hospital when they were ill. To care for them like they had cared for me.
I would have missed my grandmother's funeral. To see her face for the last time. To say goodbye. To see that she died happy.
I would not have met the better version of me. Someone who I never thought I could be. Someone stronger, and able to protect others, not just herself. Someone with brokenness, but isn't broken.
Living is easier when it feels like the extra days on a vacation you took to a place you thought you might hate, but ended up liking a lot.
I'm 32, but really only 6.
Next year, I'll turn 7.