A Thousand Apologies to Myself

A thousand apologies to myself.

For not knowing what was coming.

For being too kind sometimes.
For giving away more of myself than I ever gave to myself.

For saying yes to others, even when my own heart was saying no.

For agreeing even when it was against my will, just to avoid a problem, an argument, or the possibility of disappointing someone.

For always choosing peace for everyone else, even when it meant losing a little peace within me.

For thinking I had to keep understanding everyone, even when no one was trying to understand me.

For giving chances.
For forgiving.
For staying.
For hoping.

And maybe I don't regret being kind.

I just wish I had remembered that I deserved the same kindness I so freely gave to everyone else.

I didn't know what was coming.

I didn't know that life would bring me here.

To this chapter of uncertainty, reflection, and a diagnosis I never imagined for myself.

“You have cancer.”

And somehow, those words made me look back at my life differently.

At the things I tolerated.
The things I allowed.
The things I kept putting aside.

Especially myself.

Maybe this is not about regretting who I was.

Maybe it's about finally learning to take care of her.

The woman who kept giving.

The woman who kept saying yes.

The woman who kept trying to make everything okay.

She deserves to be chosen too.

And this time...

I choose her.

I choose me. 

xo,

Ai

Cancer

There are moments in life when a single sentence changes the way you look at everything.

For me, it was hearing…

“You have cancer.”

I still get a little choked up every time those words come back to me.

Every time I remember that day...that Tuesday morning.

That moment.
Those words.

It feels like my heart still needs a little more time to catch up with what my mind has already heard.

Even now, saying it out loud feels strange.

Cancer.

Even writing that word still feels strange.

I was shocked. Surprised. Confused. And honestly, there is still a part of me hoping that somehow, somewhere, there has been a mistake.

Because how can I have cancer?

I feel okay. I look so okay.

I am still laughing.
Still talking.
Still making plans.
Still asking my endless “what ifs.”
Still being me.

So how?

Why?

And why is this happening to me?

These are the questions that keep coming back.

There are moments when I want to believe it isn't real. Moments when I tell myself, No, I'm okay. I'm fine. This can't be happening.

Maybe that is my mind trying to protect my heart from something it wasn't prepared to hear.

I am slowly learning that acceptance doesn't happen in one moment.

It comes in little pieces.

One day, I can talk about it.
Another day, I don't want to hear the word.
One moment, I feel strong.
The next, I fall apart.

And perhaps that's okay.

I don't need to pretend that I am brave every single day.

I don't need to understand everything right now.

I don't even know what this journey will look like yet.

But I do know this:

I am here.

And while I don't have answers to the why and the how, I am learning to take one day at a time.

Some people may not know how to fix my pain. They may not have the right words, the perfect advice, or an answer to all my questions.

But some have simply stayed.

They checked on me.
They prayed for me.
They listened.
They sat with me in the uncertainty.
They made me laugh when I needed to forget for a moment.
They reminded me that I don't have to carry everything alone.

And sometimes, that is enough.

And if you ever stumble upon my page again and read the same sentence once… twice… and perhaps see the same word again and again.....

Cancer.

Please don't stop reading.

Instead, pause for a moment.

And be grateful.

Be grateful for the life you have.
For the healthy you.
For the body that allows you to wake up and move through another ordinary day.
For being alive.
For having this life.
For the things you often take for granted because they have always been there.

For not being sick.

Because when you suddenly find yourself sitting on the other side of health, you begin to see things differently.

The things you once thought were important can suddenly become so small.

And the simplest things become precious.

A good morning.
A good night's sleep.
A meal you can enjoy.
A walk outside.
A hug.
A conversation.
A laugh with someone you love.

Things that once felt ordinary suddenly feel like gifts.

Because, honestly, health is truly wealth.

We spend so much of our lives chasing money, success, possessions, plans and the next big thing.

But when your health becomes uncertain, you realise that being able to simply live your life is already a blessing.

So if you're reading this while you are healthy…

Please don't wait for something to remind you how precious that is.

Go live.

Love more.

Laugh more.

Call your people.

Take care of yourself.

Be grateful for your body.

Be grateful for today.

Because today, you are alive.

And sometimes, that is already everything.

As for me…

I don't know what this chapter will bring.

I am still trying to understand.
Still hoping.
Still afraid.
Still grateful.
Still believing.

But I am here.

And I will walk through this one day at a time.

Cancer may now be part of my story.
But it is not the whole story.

My story is still being written.

And I am still here...and so are you! 

xo,

Ai

19

 Some people enter your life and become a reflection of who you are. Then some become a reflection of who you are still becoming.

Today, my daughter turns 19.

Nineteen years ago, two weeks before my own birthday, God gave me the greatest gift I would ever receive. I loved her long before I held her, from the first beat of her heart to the moment I finally held her in my arms. She has always been my life, my light, and my greatest love.

When I look at her today, I can't help but remember myself at nineteen. I was shy, timid, and still trying to find my place in the world.

Then I look at her.

She is the girl I wish I had been at nineteen—confident in her own skin, vibrant, creative, full of life, unafraid to speak her mind, and courageous enough to embrace who she is.

And that makes my heart smile.

Perhaps that's every mother's silent prayer: that her daughter begins where she once struggled. That she inherits not her fears, but her courage.

Happy 19th birthday, my love. Keep becoming the woman God created you to be. You will always be that little girl I carried in my arms, no matter how grown you've become.

And one last thing...

Nineteen years ago, you entered this world bu
t so did I.

I became your mum.

So... technically, isn't it my birthday too? 😌 I think I've earned an extra slice of your birthday cake. 🤍🎂

The Space In Between

There are moments in life when everything around you continues moving, yet inside, you feel completely still.

That’s where I found myself lately.

A few nights ago, I was sitting quietly, staring at nothing in particular. The room was dim, the kind of silence that almost feels loud. I had my thoughts keeping me company again, thoughts I’ve been trying to outrun for weeks now.

I kept asking myself the same question:

What am I supposed to do next?

And the truth is… I don’t know.

Not in the dramatic, movie-scene kind of way.

Not the kind where everything falls apart overnight.

It’s quieter than that.

It feels like waking up one day and realizing that the version of yourself that once knew exactly what they wanted has slowly disappeared somewhere along the way. It feels like standing at a crossroads with no signs, no directions, and no certainty about which path leads to peace.

Lately, I’ve been carrying this strange heaviness inside me. Not sadness exactly. Not emptiness either. Just… confusion.

The kind that lingers in ordinary moments.

While washing dishes.

While scrolling endlessly through my phone.

While trying to sleep at night.

It follows me everywhere.

And maybe what makes it harder is that from the outside, life still looks normal. People still see me smiling, working, showing up, responding, functioning. But internally, it feels like I’m standing in the middle of a fog, trying to recognize who I am becoming.

Sometimes I think about how different I was before.

Back then, I had certainty. I had plans. I knew where my energy was going. Even pain felt easier when there was direction attached to it.

Now everything feels suspended in the air.

Like life pressed pause without asking me first.

I try to force answers out of myself sometimes. I sit there thinking maybe if I overanalyze everything enough, clarity will suddenly appear. But instead, I end up feeling more exhausted.

Because some questions cannot be rushed.

Some seasons are not meant for immediate understanding.

And maybe this is the part nobody talks about enough — the in-between phase. The chapter where nothing fully makes sense yet. The part where you outgrow old versions of yourself before new ones are fully formed.

It’s uncomfortable here.

There are days I feel hopeful, convinced that something beautiful is waiting ahead of me. Then there are days where I feel completely disconnected from everything I once believed in.

It’s strange grieving versions of yourself that once felt so certain.

But somewhere in the middle of all this confusion, I’ve started realizing something:

Maybe I am not lost.

Maybe I am just changing.

Maybe this discomfort is what growth feels like when it’s happening quietly.

Not every transformation arrives with confidence and clarity. Sometimes it arrives looking like doubt. Like restlessness. Like long nights filled with unanswered questions.

And maybe that’s okay.

So these days, I’m learning how to sit with uncertainty instead of fighting it. I’m learning how to stop demanding immediate answers from myself. I’m learning that life is not always about knowing exactly where you’re headed.

Sometimes it’s simply about continuing to walk, even when the road ahead looks blurry.

Right now, I am still in that blurry space.

Still figuring things out.

Still carrying questions.

Still searching for direction.

But maybe healing, growth, and becoming are not always loud things.

Maybe sometimes they happen quietly…

in the middle of confusion,

in the middle of silence,

in the middle of not knowing.

And maybe that is exactly where I am meant to be right now.

What if not knowing is not something to fix, but something to sit with until it slowly turns into clarity on its own?

xo

A Mother's Rebirth: My Son Turns 17

Last March 18, my son turned 17, and as I celebrated his birthday, I realized that in many ways, I too was being reborn.

Every year when his birthday comes, I feel that motherhood brings a new version of myself into the world. Being a mum is not just about giving birth once; it is about continuously giving birth to new parts of yourself. Your patience, your love, your strength, and your understanding. With every year of his life, another part of me is born again.

I have been gifted with a truly wonderful son. At 17, he is such a head turner, a dashing Romeo in his own right. But beyond the charm and youthful confidence, what fills my heart with pride is the young man he is becoming. I see responsibility in him. I see maturity in the way he takes each step through his teenage life. Watching him grow into himself is one of the most beautiful journeys I have ever experienced.

As his mother, my deepest wish for him is simple yet profound: that he lives a life filled with contentment. I pray that his heart will always carry faith in God, and that this faith will guide him in every decision he makes. I hope he continues to nurture a pure heart,one that allows him to genuinely connect with people, and most importantly, remain connected with himself.

Raising him has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. I am so grateful that I have had the privilege of guiding and nurturing such a wonderful young gentleman.

At times, it feels emotional to see how quickly he is growing up. The years pass faster than a mother's heart can prepare for. Yet no matter how tall he grows or how independent he becomes, he will always be my Jasiu, my Janek, my little boy and my heart.

Happy 17th birthday, my dear son. Your life is just beginning, and I will always be cheering for you every step of the way.

love,

Aixx