It’s the Lunar New Year—the Year of the Horse. The Metro is draped in red, and the sound of dragon dances echoes from Binondo all the way to my quiet street. They say the horse symbolizes strength, speed, and hard work.
I don’t feel like a horse. I feel like the dust left behind on the track.
In your thirties, you’re "supposed" to be at full gallop. You’re supposed to have the "vigor" the PRC mentioned in their holiday greeting. Instead, I’m sitting here with a cold cup of coffee, watching the red envelopes on social media and feeling the familiar hollow ache in my chest. I’ve deleted two drafts today. I’m failing at the one thing I told myself I’d do: keep this blog alive.
But then I looked out the window and saw the moon. It doesn't gallop. It doesn't work hard. It just hangs there, glowing through the smog, taking its time.
If this year isn't your year to run, maybe it’s just your year to exist. There is a quiet kindness in allowing yourself to be still when the world is demanding speed. Gong Xi Fa Cai to those of us who are still at the starting line. We’ll get there when we get there.
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