My mental health has been a bit better these days, even though there are still moments when I feel that familiar heaviness in my chest or when I wake up in the middle of the night crying, unsettled. Yesterday, I told Anthony that anxiety used to be something alien to me growing up. Yes, I’ve always been an overthinker; I get anxious and nervous in different situations, but I’ve never experienced this kind of deep, lingering tension before. I’m not sure if it comes from the pressures of life, adulthood, grief and loss, or the vicarious trauma of working with vulnerable people, or all of it… or if it has always been there, just hidden (?)

I finished work early today (which is quite rare for a Friday). Anthony helped me put up the new curtain on the veranda so I can finally have a little privacy in my own space. I love it.

As I’m writing this, the room is filled with the scent of masala chai, and Wild Mountain Thyme is playing from the speaker that an old friend gave me after I lost mine last January. It’s a pleasant Friday night. A few friends sent belated birthday wishes. A sweet surprise.

Oh, the fiddle-leaf fig is doing so well. She makes me so happy. I was worried she wouldn’t survive when I brough her home. As she had been left outside during the last cyclone. Keeping her indoors turned out to be a terrible idea, so I changed her soil and moved her permanently to the veranda. She loves it there, it seems.

Checking the mulberry tree for ripe fruit has become my daily ritual as soon as I get home. She slept through the whole winter and has finally woken up to dance with the sun again. I love her dearly. Before winter came, Anthony bought a bag of soil and a new big pot, and we repotted her so she could grow better. She loves it there too, it seems.

(friday, 2025.10.31)