The River Of Remembrance

I have always been highly sensitive and I think this is why, in my formative years, I often found solace in the company of books. When I was younger, things would often overwhelm me. I would watch people - observing the way they moved and spoke - and I realised that everyone was just trying to understand the world around them. We were all just a little lost and unsure.

I have always had people confide in me - revealing their deepest, rawest, and darkest secrets - as if they were a passing comment on the weather. Perhaps because they felt that I genuinely cared and empathised with their pain - but also because I truly wanted to understand, to learn, and to help them uncover what lies within their psyche. While intense, I also understood how much courage it took for them to open up and share.

As I listened, I began to see just how much people carried within them. I could almost feel the emotions they experienced, imagining how their hearts moved during critical moments, how their minds and perceptions shifted - it felt almost tangible. While I present myself with a carefree, almost elusive aura in person, I take the act of confiding seriously. People want to be understood. By speaking their truth out loud, it seems they gain clarity, perhaps even a sense of empowerment, as if the mere act of sharing their story makes it more real - that by speaking it with another, it is spoken into the light - and these troubles become less of something that lingers in their shadows.

Over time, I have learnt to pinpoint what they are trying to uncover about themselves. In a way, I have started to enjoy it as a form of learning. It is like reading an excerpt from someone's autobiography, a key moment in their story. Maybe they felt my open-minded nature, that I did not judge them because I, too, have fought demons and wrestled with my shadows for as long as I can remember. The first man my heart ever moved for was one where my shadows finally found company in his - and the darkness suddenly felt warm - and friendlier. It made me realise that our darkness - just as our light - is essential to our growth and identity. Neither should be neglected - for within our shadows lies our true strength.

From this, I noticed a recurring theme in my life - that people seemed to enter my life during their pivotal moments, undressing every part of themselves. I would listen, offering love to help them heal - then, they would leave, just as abruptly, to chase their new chapter. For years, I believed I was unlovable, or perhaps there was something wrong with me - maybe because I reminded them of a version they wanted to leave behind. The lesson I have learnt is humility - to understand that loving someone does not mean entitlement to have an enduring place in their life, but that love itself is a state of being. It makes me happy to know that, through my presence, they felt safe enough to transform. In a way, I was their cocoon as they dissolved into the unknown, only to re-emerge as their new self - before flying off. It is my honour to witness this during their most difficult periods - and now, I genuinely expect nothing in return. I simply want them to be happy.

I think I help provide a safe space for others to alchemise their pain into lessons. In East Asian mythology, there is the River of Forgetfulness before reincarnation. Perhaps, I am the River of Remembrance, distilling their wisdom so that they can transform into the most violently beautiful versions of themselves - stronger, because they remember and comprehend what once was.

It is intense, but I love intensity. It is where my soul feels most at home.