Holding
There are moments when another person’s pain reaches across the space between us and touches something familiar.
There are moments when another person’s pain reaches across the space between us and touches something familiar.
A smile. A passing comment. A joke shared across supermarket aisles. For a moment, we exist in each other’s day.
It isn’t always the extraordinary moments that make us long for someone beside us. Sometimes it’s simply wanting someone to remember the shape of our days.
A poem about waiting, uncertainty, and the quiet courage of continuing without knowing what comes next.
Hope is not believing that love will never hurt us again. It is choosing to remain open, even after it has.
A poem about what remains after certainty falls away – and the quiet decision to stay open, stay in relationship, and choose love anyway.
My strongest childhood memories are not of places but of Sunday lunches: paprika-scented kitchens, opera drifting through open windows, and my father’s stories unfolding around the table.
Sometimes the most important intervention is not a medication or a procedure, but belief. This story reflects on illness, autonomy, and the GP who listened when others would not.
This poem was written as part of my Master’s thesis, Who’s Health Matters? It captures the essence of the chapter titled Summer and reflects themes of transition, hope, belonging, and the search for home.
Sometimes the safest way to survive is not to be seen. A story of migration, belonging, and the strategies we develop to protect ourselves.