ME!
The morning humidity always arrives before the sun, settling over the balcony like a heavy wool blanket. I sat watching the pale light trace the edges of my tea cup, watching the bright yellow school bus wind its slow route through the CMFRI quarters campus, stopping to pick up the staff kids. In the next room, my daughter’s quiet, even breathing anchored the house. For years, I had carried the quiet, crushing weight of a life split in two—the deep sorrow and simmering anger of watching my true profession slip away, trapped in a dead-end routine that felt less like a career and more like a daily surrender. I thought my story was simply about the ambitions I had been forced to drop, the frustration of feeling stuck while trying to raise a young child. It took a long time to realize that the raw, burning grief of letting go wasn't just an end—it was the very heart of everything I was fighting to rebuild!
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