I no longer shrink to fit or apologize for the weight I carry.
There are departures that aren’t departures at all. Just the illusion of distance, the choreography of a life forever circling back. I teach, I write, I watch the tide of knowledge pull in and out, reshaping the shoreline. Here, in this space of half-built sentences and restless thoughts, I gather the echoes of classrooms, the weight of unsaid things, the quiet rebellion of learning. Some days, teaching feels like constructing a house with no walls, only doorways. Other days, it is a series of small disappearances—ideas slipping through fingers, students moving on, the past dissolving behind us. But always, there is return. Always, there is something waiting to be found.
Diligent Candy 