@STORMBORNE: I’m renting a small room in a boarding house. Back then, I juggled classes and part-time jobs just to pay rent and get by. When I finally graduated and started earning, I slowly began buying things I once only dreamed of owning. Those little things made me feel like I was finally standing on my own two feet. But last week, Typhoon Tino took them all. It’s strange how years of hard work can vanish just like that. I’m tired. Tired of starting over. Tired of pretending I’m okay. Part of me wants to believe there’s a reason for all this, but another part just feels numb. I just needed to reach out maybe for advice, or maybe just to make sense of everything that’s happened. How do you stay hopeful when you’re too tired to hope?
DJ: I can only imagine how hard these days must feel. You’ve lost everything you’ve worked for, and it’s not because of any mistake on your part. Nature unleashed its force, and much of the damage could have been prevented if the systems built to protect you and your neighbors had actually worked.
You have every right to feel everything you’re feeling. I know from my own storms that emotions can get heavy, the kind that wears you down if you stay inside them too long. It’s not about ignoring them. Just noticing them and giving yourself space so they don’t take all your energy.
You’re not thinking wrong. It’s just that thoughts can be sneaky. They don’t show up like enemies. They creep in quietly and start convincing you that you’re powerless if you’re not careful. You start with “I’m tired,” and before you know it, it turns into “I can’t do this anymore.”
Your mind is the only ground you can still protect right now. And you, of all people, are not powerless. You’ve already proven that once, working your way through college, earning every small thing with your own effort. The flood may have taken them all, but it did not erase that part of you.
You also don’t have to rush to rebuild. Wash your clothes. Clean the mud out of your room. Sort through what’s left and decide what to keep or dispose of. These small acts may not feel like progress, but they’re how you begin to move again. You don’t need to recover everything you lost. Only the things that made daily life work. A place to sleep. Clean clothes. A routine. When the basics return, a sense of direction slowly follows.
Let people in. Reaching out isn’t a weakness. I know someone else whose home and possessions were swept away by the flood, leaving them with nothing but mud. She’s a single parent. When my friends and I visited them, she wept because it reminded her that she wasn’t alone.
There’s no rule that you have to handle everything alone. A friend bringing you a meal, someone helping move mud, or just sitting with you while you vent do matter. Don’t hesitate to reach out and be honest about what you need, even if it’s just one small thing at a time.
And if people say everything happens for a reason, let them. But you don’t have to agree. Sometimes, there is no reason. Just the reality that life can be unfair, and we make sense of it afterward. Not during. You’ve been strong for a long time, and maybe for now, strength looks a little different. It’s not in smiling through the pain, but in allowing yourself to just be.
You’ve already proven you can work your way up from nothing once. This is not starting over but a continuation, just from a different point on the map. Taking the step to share your story with me is already a step toward healing. You don’t have to force hope. Just don’t shut the door on it completely. And if you ever need to talk, I’m here.