On the last day, I read. I read my little notebook, the cover of which resembled fresh-roasted coffee. Attached to it was a keychain of a ship’s wheel, and a yellow tiger with fiery red eyes and vibrant green stripes. I bought it from a kind woman I met at a serene Japanese temple. She said it would help me realize my dreams.

This notebook was with me for four months in 2019. I decided to fill its pages with my thoughts on slow days, stories of sudden trips, and my small victories over the battle in my mind. By reading my writings, I lived those days again.

  • I woke up at 7 am with puffy eyes, feeling sleepy.
  • Today, during my walk, I saw trees stripped of leaves due to winter. I felt a chill and longed for warmth.
  • I finally visited the botanical garden, a place I had wanted to see for three years, and I saw butterflies.
  • Today I saw the faces of the people in my yoga class.
  • Today, I had my first meeting with Maria Elena, my therapist, and I cried.
  • Today I thought about quitting my job.
  • Today, I decided to write and publish a story titled ‘Living a Rushed Life.
  • Today, I visited the beach and enjoyed the music playing on the train.

So, with my thumb and index finger, I turned each page, reading each thought and story I wrote. I had written about my recovery and I remembered my motto: to feel 0.1% better every day.

I kept reading, infusing each word with the same love one might reserve for sunrises after a stormy night, certain that the sun will rise. And when I turned the last page, I knew I had achieved my dream: I felt a sense of mental peace.

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