I took the LRT on 7 June 2025

I took the LRT on 7 June 2025 to delivered biscuits for my friend. 

7 June 2025 was a usual weekend. A big sunny day. 

I stepped into the light railway transit station, like I used to be. 

It is the very first time since I learned how pain can linger in places,

in metal seats and station platforms,

in the spaces between strangers’ eyes.

There was a time I couldn’t breathe in crowds.

A time I traded my presence for invisibility.

Grab rides became my world. Tarot became my anchor.

Silence became my safest friend. Tear is my dearest lover.

But today…

I stepped back into the world.

No panic. No tight chest. Just a quiet steadiness.

I did something completely wild

I went to that shopping mall.

The place I avoided for years because I knew they — the people who bullied me, who used to eat there, laugh there, walk around like they owned the air and space.

I sat there for lunch with seat next to a big window.

For two hours.

No hiding. No rushing. No earphone stuck in my ear. 

Just sitting. Breathing. Existing. Eating. Leaving.

Years ago, that place felt like a wound with no antiseptic cream. 

It so hurt that the memory arises....

It always bleeding.

Today, it felt like closure. The antiseptic cream suddenly covered on the wound.   

People looked. Maybe they remembered me. Maybe they didn’t.

But I didn’t shrink.

Not today. Not anymore. 

I whispered: I am sorry. 

To the ME years ago.

I bought flowers for myself.

Not tucked quietly in a bag, but held openly, like a small, soft declaration:

I’m here. I deserve the flower. I’m not afraid to be seen anymore.

Today, I was someone who holds beautiful flowers on a train,

sits in old shadows without fear and does not apologize for taking up space.