Hey, you!

Yes, you. I’m talking to you from my past, which is now your present. I want to tell you, I see you and see your fight.

Maybe you’re sitting in your kitchen, pouring another glass of wine. Perhaps you’re in bed alone, wondering if you made the right decision to request a non-molestation order against your ex. You might be waiting in a doctor’s office, composing words to tell him how the pain in your stomach got worse. It actually doesn’t matter where you are. I can tell you I’m in bed, my coffee on my bedside table, and even if I don’t know you, I wonder about you.

You see, I’m a writer and I have a habit of falling in love with powerful stories. Whilst we have thousands of stories about superheroes saving the world from yet another villain (I’m getting a bit tired of these, to be honest), we’re rarely reminded of greater heroes and heroines walking amongst us without recognition. Their bravery isn’t as visible to our eyes. Just in case you’re wondering—I’m talking about you and your bravery. I like your story.

I like how you stood up for yourself, how you spoke your truth even when your voice shook a little.

You know, it’s fairly easy to admire Iron Man’s sarcastic charm as he trash-talks his opponent, quite confident in the power granted to him through various advanced technological equipment, but I’m more interested in your ability to fight back your enemy not knowing where you’ll take your strength from, only knowing that this time you won’t be silent.

There’s almost mythical beauty in seeing someone reach to the very bottom of their heart and soul, to the place where there’s very little light and seemingly nothing good resides there, to invoke powers that are better left alone, but when we face our worst enemies even our demons can come to our rescue.

I saw you screaming at him and the primal sound of your voice and your glowing eyes were so different from the usual display of beauty in magazines, yet it was this that made me fall in love with you.

It wasn’t the skin-deep “you” that we are accustomed to seeing. It was the untamed “you” that you were told is too much for the world and so you learned to hide it so the world saw your beauty but never your beast.

I saw you when you were drowning your sorrow in alcohol every day. Knowing you’re destroying your precious life but unable to stop it. I saw your tears reminding you that there’s still beauty in your life and how you held onto that little beam of light in your soul, how you came close to the edge, staring into the abyss almost ready to jump, but slowly you walked away because that little ray of hope was enough to bring you back. Oh, how I admired you when you looked at that black hole, ready to swallow you, and yet you managed to turn away. I know how much strength it took, and I wish you knew I rooted for you there barely breathing, praying to God that you cling onto that light in you and won’t give in.

Oh, I was there too, darling.

I was there alone same as you were. Unless some other void stalker saw me from afar and felt the same way about me as I feel about you now. Or maybe God was there, He might have been there watching and not interfering and it could have felt like betrayal, but perhaps that’s the way it always must be. We have to find our own way from that point to remember we have the strength to save our souls even when all hope seems gone.

Otherwise, how would we learn that we have this power? How would we learn to invoke it?

Maybe you wonder if it gets easier.

Well, I’m afraid it doesn’t.

You grow stronger.

But they do too.

You just have to remember how you found your way back once. How there’s always a way back.

And you should know that even if you end up on your knees and it will look like their victory, it is you who will win at the end of the end.

You don’t know me and I don’t really know you, but I still recognise you from somewhere, some other story perhaps.

And aren’t all stories part of one big story anyway? We just don’t know how someone else’s journey affects ours, but chances are, it does.

The fact that you read this love letter to all who fight and feel like losing, which I wrote because of one simple thought I randomly had, tells me that our stories are indeed intertwined, but perhaps our senses aren’t sharp enough to see the invisible strings connecting us all.

I have to go now.

I have my own fight.

I just wanted to let you know that you matter, and I will be rooting for you all the way. Someone always does.

But please, never forget to root for yourself too!

You got this!

Sincerely yours,

Fellow warrior

~

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